


Falcon Pack

by Tallihensia



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Broken Bucky but functional, Bucky thinks so too, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Howling Commandos mentioned, Medical Jargon, Sam as pararescue, Sam is awesome, Steve mentioned a lot, This was supposed to be shorter, but ignores the rest, character fic, coming in, fits in the post-Winter timeline, gen or pre-slash or pre-ot3, getting closer, rescues and recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 09:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16514036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tallihensia/pseuds/Tallihensia
Summary: Hydra finds the Winter Soldier first, but the Falcon and Captain America aren't far behind.  Sam and Bucky have some bonding time before they realize maybe they didn't escape so unscathed after all





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as gen or pre-slash or pre-OT3, depending on reader preference. It's written as friendship, and that can be anything. :)
> 
> Thanks to my awesome friend Tainry for the beta and always being there! :)
> 
> Yes, I know I'm supposed to be writing other things. But my writing time this year hasn't been easy. So this story came together in really small bits and pieces here and there while I was waiting for a larger chunk of time to do the others... which never quite happened. And then this one kind of took on a life of its own... {sigh} This keeps happening to me. This also isn't finished as far as the whole plot goes - the story itself is done. But I'd originally envisioned several more parts to it, bringing Tony and Jarvis and Steve in, with more interactions and moving things along. Well, this was also supposed to be a lot shorter. 25k+ later... I want to spend NaNo on Not A Villain. Time for this to get posted. Hopefully everybody will enjoy this one for what it is. ^^

# Falcon Pack

Sam turned in the sky, spiraling higher. Something had caught his attention, but he wasn't sure what.

"Falcon?" Steve's question came over the comms. He apparently had seen Sam's pause on the way back. Steve was supposed to be paying attention to his own sector instead of Sam's, but the man apparently had more than two eyes and an uncanny knack for looking in the right direction sometimes.

"Not sure," Sam replied absently as he looked around, letting the wings turn his whole body while he tracked position as well. There. A flash on the ground, some distance away. Gone instantly, but he had the rough location now. He automatically started to calculate it in both miles and kilometers – when in Europe, mind the metrics. "I've got something South-East. Not sure what, it's just out of place." 

There weren't any cities out here, or big towns, which is why they had teamed up with local contacts to help do reconnaissance. There were rumors of the Winter Soldier to lure Steve in, but those rumors were a dime a dozen nowadays. The exposure of Hydra still alive... that had woken up others as well, and the data release had people on the run. Hydra was more infiltration than outposts nowadays, but there were exceptions, and those exceptions tended to be in the remote areas. 

"Another flash. Could be munitions. Could be legal. Too far to tell from here."

"Come back in, Falcon, and we'll all head out that way. This section is a bloody bust." The lyrical accent of Union Jack came over the comms, and Sam couldn't help smiling. He really liked the man, and so did Steve, which helped a lot. Steve didn't trust many after Shield's fall, but Monty's son was an exception and a delight.

Sam caught a wind and drifted without using the pack, heading South-East. "I'm good up here for awhile. How about if I just keep an eye on it? Maybe float in a little closer to see what it is."

"No grandstanding, Sam," Steve said with exasperation. "You're our only aerial support with Zephyr refueling."

"Roger that," Sam couldn't help his reply – it wasn't a common radio call nowadays, but the chance to tease Steve into an exasperated headshake couldn't be passed up, even if Sam wasn't there to see it himself. He watched another flash. That was definitely munitions. "No doing anything like Captain America, rushing in by himself."

There was a general chuckle from the others on the comms. 

"It's useless to protest, isn't it?" Steve sighed.

"Indeed, Captain," Union Jack responded semi-seriously. 

Sam could picture the wink that went with it. He laughed and dipped his wings to catch the winds heading out. "I'll keep you updated."

\---

He hadn't seen any more flashes for a long time, but was close, he was sure, when the hillside exploded.

"Woah!" Sam circled higher, using a touch of the jet to get himself up beyond any updraft sure to come away from that. The exploded hillside proved to be an underground bunker now cracked open and burning. People were scurrying from it, and at the heights Sam was at, the proverbial anthill was very apt for comparison. 

"Falcon reporting – this has turned into... Guys? Um, hello?" 

Sam twisted a little to look at the side pack that held his comms booster. Great. He'd flown right into a jammed region without noticing it. Steve was never, ever going to let him live this one down. He'd _meant_ to be good, honest...

The lines below were resolving themselves into something more organized and Sam stayed where he was, circling above. They weren't looking up, and he wanted to know more. Rotating slightly, he checked for clouds, sun, and sight-lines and then angled himself so that if they did glance up, he would be obscured, harder to notice. He locked his wings so the motion wouldn't draw attention either.

It was a battle, with a group of men in uniforms vaguely similar to the country they were in but more likely to be Hydra, against... Against a single person. A very efficient, scary, single person. He'd come out of the blown-up bunker and was taking out enemies near and far with guns, grenades, and lethal hand-to-hand, all the while making his way steadily out towards the trees for better cover. Sunlight glinted off one of his arms.

Sam was torn between exuberance for finally finding what Steve sought, frustration that the comms were down and he couldn't tell him, admiration for the sheer awesomeness of the battle, and worry for a single person against the whole of Hydra against him.

Even as Sam thought that, the Winter Soldier staggered and fell, his leg jerking out involuntarily, in an apparent hit. Barnes was up again in an instant, but only on one leg, the other not taking his weight. Then he went down again. Sam couldn't tell where that shot had gotten him.

Folding his wings tight, Sam dove in a barreling line straight down and in. He pulled out his guns as he got near and strafed the area with a barrage of unexpected fire. It cleared enough of a break for him to pull out of the dive and land.

Barnes was looking at him with a hand to his chest and a grimace contorting his face. He didn't attack Sam, though, and Sam counted that as a win. 

"Have an extra grenade?" Sam asked, holding his hand out. If he was going to get shot by not-so-friendly fire, this would be the moment for it. Actually, before he landed would have been the moment. At this point, Sam figured he had a good chance of getting through the initial meet and greet with Steve's lethal ex-friend.

The Winter Soldier only blinked once before reaching into a side pack with his other hand and bringing out another grenade, giving it to Sam.

"Thanks," Sam said, already in the air again. He knew the layout, he knew the deployment, and there would be another set of Hydra coming up over... there. Pulling the pin on the grenade, he tossed it up and then used the jet for a quick, tight turn, whipping out his left wing and smacking the deadly ball out. He didn't wait to watch it land, already heading earth-ward again. There was an explosion and screams.

Barnes was sitting on the ground, looking up at him. "I want wings."

Sam smiled, but his heart wasn't entirely in it. He and Riley had played ball with that maneuver with the rest of the falcon flock... it was for fun, originally, not for war. Though everything they had done was training for it, in one way or another.

"Let me see that," Sam dug into his other pack and brought out a modular bandage, that had the gauze for staunching pre-secured in a wrap for the pressure part of a pressure bandage. Barnes removed his hand briefly, then pressed it back again. Yeah, that needed immediate attention. There was nothing on the man's backside opposite the wound, which was... in a regular human, it would be so not good. In the Winter Soldier, it was probably still not good but hopefully not as potentially fatal. The fact that he was conscious, alert, and talking were huge points on the hopeful side. Sam didn't hear any wheezing or air sucking out through lungs, and while there was blood all over the soldier, none of it seemed to be coughing out. If they could get him stanched up, he could probably hold. Steve would have been able to. Sam had to trust Barnes would as well.

Barnes waited until Sam nodded at him, then he moved his hand again. Sam slapped the modular bandage on the instant, drawing the wrap around and securing it. Barnes returned pressure to the wound after, which Sam approved of. Pressure was what stopped initial bleeding – bandages were to contain it.

There were additional wounds on Barnes' body. He wasn't wearing a tactical vest or any other sort of armor and had apparently gone through a lot of fighting before getting to this point. However, they only had a very brief moment in the field before they had to move. Sam kept his eyes moving past the other wounds – if Barnes wasn't worrying about them, then Sam wasn't going to stop to exam them. The reality of war vs healing.

Sam switched his attention to the leg and shook his head at it. Broken by the velocity of the bullet, and he didn't know how Barnes was even up and about with that – it had to be his super soldier serum, similar to Steve's. It was bleeding also, though thankfully not with the spurts of an arterial flow. Bad enough to require more attention before flying. Sam applied another pressure bandage on the initial wound, then brought out two flexible splints, unrolling them to either side of the break and wrapping it up with ace top and bottom. He wasn't going to straighten it, but it had to be stabilized before flight.

The whole time he was working, Barnes didn't make a sound. That was either shock, or a super soldier degree of ignoring pain. Knowing Steve as he did, and the Winter Soldier records, Sam figured it was more of the second. And knowing Steve as well... it was probably mostly a Winter Soldier thing, rather than a super soldier serum on its own. Barnes had been through a lot more than Steve had, and he had the discipline to match.

"Anything else immediate?" Sam was doing his own visual inspection, but though Barnes was covered in gore and bleeding in a dozen places, he didn't look like he'd immediately bleed out from any of them. 

"No." Barnes raised his gun and shot behind Sam.

Sam didn't bother to turn around at the sound of someone falling. He pulled out the lift kit and tossed it over. "This goes around you, straps between the legs, and allows my wing pack to take your weight instead of me. Most people bad enough to use it, I strap in facing me, but..."

Barnes snorted, "No." He made quick work of the straps and hooks, pausing only when he would normally have gotten to his leg. 

"Let it be," Sam said, firing at a movement without actually seeing a person. "Normally, I'd strap a broken leg to the other, but..."

"No," Barnes said again, with the same depreciating wry firmness. "Ready." He heaved himself up to standing again, balancing on one leg. His pale, caucasian features were whiter than even a few minutes ago, and the layers of bandages on his chest were already soaked red. 

This was the reality of war. Sam nodded, stepping behind Barnes and watching as all lines of his body stiffened at letting Sam in that position. And yet he did let him. Sam knew what that cost him, potential ally or not, and he silently admired Barnes for his courage and resiliency of the moment. Snapping the hooks from his wing pack to the lift kit, Sam tightened until Barnes was nearly a part of him. Then he took off up into the sky.

Both he and Barnes shot at the people now below them, and Barnes threw another grenade. Sam smiled as the remaining Hydra flailed uselessly.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Barnes muttered in exasperation. "Eight o'clock, 70 degrees down."

Sam looked that way and let out his own curse. He veered in time to dodge the ground missile. And the next. And the next... they were made for larger, less maneuverable targets than himself. He concentrated on getting altitude and the hell away from there. They were heading in the wrong direction to get back to Steve and Union Jack, but he'd take care of that later.

"Wilson!" Barnes yelled, trying to recoil without anything but Sam to brace himself on. 

Sam saw it, but there weren't a lot of options. Somebody below had gotten creative and somehow fired two missiles aimed to collide with each other right where he was. The Falcon wings were maneuverable, but not faster than missiles. He put the jet on full power to get as much distance as possible, then counted to the last second, shutting the jet off and pulling the wings in front of him, wrapping around for maximum coverage as he curled up into Barnes, forcing them both into a ball.

It protected most of them.

Sam let his breath out on a near-whine as he straightened out again. "How many grenades you have left?"

"How come you don't have any?" Barnes handed him another.

"I was on reconnaissance, not active. Fewer weapons." Sam calculated angles and distance, and flew in closer – he couldn't be as fancy with Barnes attached to him. At least the ground missile folks seemed to be waiting to see if they'd got him or not, the air still smoky all around them.

"You could fit a whole arms kit in that medical pack of yours."

Sam spared a glare for the back of the head in front of him. The medical pack that had just saved Barnes' dang ass, thank you very much. But that was a soldier for you. Sam was soldier-trained, but his instincts were slightly different. 

"You can take the man out of pararescue, but you can't take the pararescue out of the man," Sam quipped lightly. "Hold tight."

He managed a credible spin and hit, getting the grenade into the right spot. It was a relief when it blew. The pain was starting to distract him – he could put it out of mind mostly, but the body had its own way of making its needs known. 

"Larne's biting balls. Go cower in the bunkers, you undertrained reserves, stop coming out to die." Barnes said wearily, even as he switched to fresh clips in his guns. "Idiots at ten below. And eleven. And..."

Sam glanced around. "The hell." It looked like Hydra had run out of soldiers and was just sending everybody they had out to try and get them. Even under-trained forces, as Barnes put it, could still be overwhelming with numbers.

"Can you get higher?"

Sam shook his head. "We have to breathe. And that explosion damaged something on the wings. I'm afraid I won't have flexibility on the left wing much longer." It was responding sluggishly, more so as it went along. He glanced at the smaller comms light on his wrist. Still out. Well, the sheer amount of chaos would have to have been noticed by the squad. But all but him had been ground units – it would take them awhile to get here. He just hoped they came in prepared for bear, because this was grizzly territory.

"Been fun knowing you, Wilson." Barnes remarked dryly.

Sam rolled his eyes. Always with the jokers. "You have smoke bombs in there?"

"Only enough for one good layer. You got a plan?"

"They're looking up now. Time to head to ground." Sam pointed at a ravine a little ways away, smack in the middle of what had been proven to be Hydra territory, but not in their main path. He then angled his finger along the crack on the ground to a mountain – or a large hill. Something tall and jagged with trees and no roads.

"Look like you're heading for the missiles? Cover from there?"

Sam nodded. Barnes nodded as well, trading his guns for canisters. "Let's do it."

Sam couldn't help the grin. This was going to be fun. Dangerous as hell and odds weren't favorable. It relied on how well he could maneuver a damaged Falcon pack, ride the currents, keep his patient safe, and come in for a landing. Just what he loved best.

\---


	2. Chapter 2

\---

"Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing," Wilson said as he didn't get up from where he was looking up at the sky.

Bucky grunted as he finished untangling himself from the lift kit, wrapping it carefully in case they needed it or parts from it later. "I don't see any walking going on here yet."

With a hiss, Wilson sat up, his face smoothing out from the initial discomfort to a familiar soldier's blankness. One wing had retracted impossibly small and fitting into the pack, but the other was half-way stuck out still. Wilson had angled the landing to come down on the side where the wing had retracted, sparing both the other wing and Bucky himself from any further injuries. Bucky was fairly sure Wilson had hurt himself doing so, but wasn't sure how bad it was – the Winter Soldier was a killer, not a healer. He knew what it would take to kill, yet had less experience with non-lethal injuries not his own.

Wilson seemed to be doing okay, however. After finally standing up, the other man looked around, evaluating the location. Then he twisted the snap on the straps crossing the middle of his chest, releasing the pack and his wings. Before they could fall to the ground, Wilson grabbed them quickly and placed them more gently down. 

Bucky remembered pulling that wing off, once upon a time. He glanced away, looking around them, away from the memory. 

They'd made it into the ravine without a problem, and glided quite a distance before the unsteadiness of the wings had forced a landing. The other Sergeant was good at on-the-fly tactical reasoning and had gotten them to a hillside with trees up higher for cover, and a rocky line that held a decent chance of some sort of shelter. They were still close enough to the creek flowing through for water as well. "I'll scout---"

"You'll stay still," Wilson interrupted him, scowling as he gingerly got up again. He gave Bucky a narrow-eyed once over. "You don't look like you're bleeding out, at least."

Bucky put his flesh hand to his chest where the bullet had gone in. It still hurt but not like a fresh shot. He could feel his body pulling in around it, inside. Healing often hurt, if in a different way than the initial wound. "No, it's good."

Wilson snorted. "I doubt that." He looked up and around, evaluating the situation, then returned his attention to Bucky. "Will you let me look at it?"

The words might have been framed in a question, but it was spoken by a sergeant who expected a 'yes' answer. Bucky did his own evaluation of both the situation and his impromptu companion. 

They were relatively secure for the moment, without Hydra on their tail. They had daylight. They had resources. What they needed to do was to either start an escape route while they could, or get to shelter. Bucky... was hurting. The chest was bad, the leg was what it was, and they weren't the only injuries he had. Hydra hadn't been gentle when they captured him, taking the legend of the Winter Soldier for what it was. But even so, they'd misestimated him – not underestimating, exactly, but incorrectly calculating what he might do. That let him escape the bunker. An escape which would have been for naught if the Falcon hadn't swooped down, stealing Hydra's prey.

"Thank you for rescuing me, Wilson," Bucky said quietly, thinking about it. Above all else, being recaptured by Hydra was his worst nightmare. Wilson's entrance had been a god-send, if Bucky still believed in God. He believed in hell, at least, and that hell was Hydra, sure enough. Hydra would have had him again, if it hadn't been for Sam Wilson.

Wilson smiled, the gesture crinkling up the edges of his eyes – genuine and real. "Not a problem, Barnes. And I guess that's our introductions?"

Introductions. Cute. Bucky snorted. "I read the newspapers. And the hacked records as well. Not to mention dodging you and Steve around the world. You two are ridiculously persistent." He'd expected it from Steve. He didn't want to see Steve yet, but he'd still expected the chase. He sometimes helped the chase, too. Bucky knew Steve would not let him go, and he'd found he couldn't quite disappear as completely as he should, not while knowing Steve was looking for him. Whether that was a good or bad thing, Bucky didn't know. Time would tell.

Steve's companion, though... it was interesting to both read the records on Sam Wilson, and also to now see him in action. He was good, and he was good for Steve. And here he was now, being good to Bucky, for no real reason. How had Steve found him? "I know who you are, Falcon."

Wilson's smile grew wider, if that was possible.

"Call me Bucky," Bucky offered.

"Sam," the other responded in kind. He took a step forward. "Now can I look at that?" His dark eyes were dancing merrily, sharing a joke with his new friend.

Bucky wasn't totally sure what the joke was, or that they were friends, but he couldn't help smiling back, the response being drawn out of him simply from the force of Sam's personality. "No."

Sam raised his eyebrows, not backing off.

"I'm not bleeding out," Bucky said, letting his hand fall from his chest. "It'll be fine."

"I think this is where we just were a minute ago." Sam let his smile fade. "I know you've got that serum, super-healing and all. I watched Steve recover from wounds a normal person wouldn't have – and faster than anybody has the right to. And he says you had the same serum, or probably the same. So I know you can heal... but even Steve said getting surgery and hospital care helped him to recover faster than if he'd been on his own. I'm not a hospital... but I would like to help."

Bucky winced. He'd given Steve those wounds. Every one of them. He remembered shooting him, hurting him, hitting him. That wasn't Sam's point... but his point was taken, all the same. 

"When we get to shelter," Bucky capitulated. "Once we have shelter, I'll let you look." It was mostly his guilt over Steve that was talking. For himself, he would still have said no. This was Steve's friend, however, and it was hard not to translate that over; at least not in person.

Sam drew a breath in, then let it back out, not saying anything. It was fairly definite that Bucky had surprised him, but like the experienced warrior he was, Sam wasn't letting that surprise define his actions. He glanced around them, then back at Bucky, sitting on the ground. "Leg still broke?"

That wasn't something that healed all that quickly. Bucky grimaced. "Yeah."

"Then you get to scout from where you're at." Sam pulled off his goggles from around his neck and tossed them to Bucky, who caught them in one hand. That was a good thought. Something that needed to be done but conserved resources for the moment. 

He pulled the goggles on and hummed in surprised delight. These were something like his old ones, having enhanced vision in different forms. He touched the edges until he found the switches to control the type of enhancement. "Nice."

"Yeah. Don't break them." 

"I didn't break mine," Bucky replied absently, flipping through the settings. "The Widow shot them out." He didn't actually remember any little bit of that fight, but he'd seen the videos.

There was a brief pause that felt abrupt in the silence. Bucky flicked the settings to normal and glanced over. Sam was giving him an unreadable look that had the chill of winter behind it.

Probably he should apologize, but the problem was, Bucky didn't think 'sorry' would cover all or even part of what he'd done. It was him, and he had to live with it. He knew all the excuses... but it was still him. He may not remember that particular incident, but he remembered others even worse.

Before he'd decided, the moment had passed. Sam had relaxed, giving Bucky another quick smile before he turned away. He grabbed his wings and kit and moved them next to Bucky. Then he took up a couple of broken branches from their scattered landing and started brushing out the skid marks. As he moved along their landing path, he also righted various plants in the wake. The landing would probably still be recognizable to anybody doing a detailed grid search from the air, but a casual glance or satellite footage may not notice.

Bucky returned to his own task, switching the goggle settings and looking around them.

"You don't think Hydra will be coming after us." Bucky could tell. Sam was doing all the right things, but there wasn't an urgency to it. As good as their diversion had been, it wasn't _that_ good.

"Neither do you," Sam laughed at him without turning around.

Bucky's mouth lifted up slightly. "I know what they had in the bunker, and I blew that up when leaving. They might have some personnel still, and those damn missiles, but no active soldiers, no working air craft I know of, and mighty few of the elite left to organize the rest. Hydra workers are still dangerous, but they're not trained to scout and follow the likes of us. It'll take them awhile to regroup."

Nodding, Sam contributed his half. "Steve and Union Jack and the others will be coming down on them like a raging pack of Howling Commandos soon enough. If not today," Sam frowned up at the afternoon sky, "then definitely by tomorrow. We just have to hole up long enough for them to get here. Sadly, I couldn't get an actual message to them with that jammer, and my booster comms broke on that landing, but they knew my basic route and that I was heading into something. Steve will be here."

On that note, Sam headed up the hill again. He was doing a full sweep this time, evaluating the job he'd done and also looking around. He'd left the scouting for shelter to Bucky, but with the luxury of time, he apparently also wanted his own visuals. Bucky approved. It was nice to be with somebody who knew what they were doing. He could see how the partnership between Sam and Steve worked. 

Steve. Bucky swallowed, forcing himself to think about it. He still didn't want to see Steve, but he may not have a choice anymore. Steve Rogers, Captain America, little fighting Stevie. His scant memories were all over the board with Steve, broken and fractured, dreams and nightmares, hope and pain. What he remembered best, on his own – not the exhibits or research or videos he'd watched, but out of his own memory, was him beating up Steve. Even the earlier part of the fight had a surreal layer over it, what he'd taken to calling a winter haze. But his fists on Steve's face, while Steve was talking to him – that was clear and direct, and it was _him_ hurting the person he'd always protected. Remembering the pain, and always feeling the pain himself. His head hurt, his heart hurt, and everything was conflict and agony. To think of Steve was to invite pain. He'd hurt Steve... Steve hurt him. Not the wounds he'd suffered – that was something he was used to. Steve hurt him just by being. There were times before he'd been free for awhile, and it hadn't hurt like this, not like this. Steve brought the memories and he brought the anguish of them. Despite the pain, though, Bucky also _wanted_. He wanted something he didn't have so very badly...

The part of him that didn't rely on memories had all sorts of associations around Steve. It was funny how he could have emotions and reactions and knowledge of somebody he didn't actually remember. Around everything, actually. Memories were spotty, but he was a person still. He didn't know why he disliked strawberries, he just did. When he connected anything with Steve, he felt more whole, even without his parts.

Sam returned after awhile. He was carrying a sturdy stick that was tall and thick enough that Bucky could use it as a cane. Without any specific mention of it, Sam handed the stick to Bucky. "Found a spot for us?" 

He sat down next to Bucky and pulled the wing pack into his lap. The one wing that was still out should have made that awkward but Sam didn't even hesitate, as if it was routine. He held out his free hand in the gesture of wanting something.

After a second to figure it out, Bucky laid the stick down and then took off the goggles and handed them back. He pointed at the rocky line. "There's an overhang over there, possibly even a shallow cave." It was close enough to the water for easy access without being so near they'd be in the way of anything coming to or from the creek. If the cave was unoccupied, they'd have ready-made shelter. If it wasn't suitable, there were a couple other possibilities near it. 

Looking where he pointed, Sam nodded. Then he put the goggles on and adjusted the settings, looking down at his wings. He detached a small tool from the top of the wing pack, and went down the outer edge of the wing that hadn't retracted, feather by feather. Eight times he stopped and made some adjustment with the tool, until he was at the end of the wing. Then he put the tool back in its slot and carefully folded the wing until it fit inside the pack.

For as large as the wings were, they really shouldn't fold up that small. Bucky blinked, watching it happen and still not quite sure about the process. "Is it fixed now?"

Sam shook his head, putting the wing pack on and strapping it tight. He winced as he did so, his whole body radiating pain, but he made no outward mention of it. Bucky figured whatever had impacted on the wing had hurt Sam too – just not bad enough to impair. Or maybe it was the landing. Either way, Sam didn't hesitate or make any fuss about it. 

Bucky frowned down at his own leg. Like Sam, Bucky could have worked through anything else if it wasn't his leg and it wasn't broke through. He didn't like being the one worse off – it didn't happen very often. If ever. Steve was coming to mind again, some set of the thoughts hitting that down deep mucky pond. Rescues and rescuing, both and each to the other. Details obscured. Always, though, Steve.

Sam was talking, answering Bucky's question. Bucky wrenched his attention back to the here and now and paid attention.

"I have to run diagnostics – the fault is in the circuitry somewhere, and I've got a fairly good idea where, but need more time to work on it. That was just switching to manual mode so I could retract them. Not leaving them here, and it's awkward to walk with one wing out." He stood up with a slight groan, then checked his other packs, looking around to make sure they weren't leaving anything. "Ready to head out?"

Bucky didn't look forward to getting up. A bullet in the chest was easier to deal with than a stupid, stupid broken leg. "Yeah." He could make it. He had before, he could again. He breathed in and out, preparing to shove the pain somewhere else. Digging the stick into the ground, Bucky calculated the best angle to stand.

"Would you let me carry you?"

Bucky glanced up, startled. Sam didn't push it, just stood there, looking where they needed to go rather than at Bucky. He'd phrased that carefully, well aware of what sort of reflexes Bucky had.

After a moment, Bucky cautiously asked, "How were you thinking to do that?" He might as well find that out first. 

"Well," Sam shrugged with a depreciating grin, "it would be easiest on me if we could do a fireman's carry – across my shoulders."

"No," Bucky didn't even have to think twice on that. It was too vulnerable and left him mostly helpless in that position.

"Yeah." Sam nodded in easy acceptance. "So... piggy back?"

Bucky blinked. Once, twice... okay, he was going to have to ask. That was pulling up _nothing_ out of either memory, reaction, or anything he could reference. "Piggy back?"

Sam's mouth opened slightly in surprise, then he shut it quickly, relaxing again.

Bucky was starting to realize that Sam's apparent easy acceptance of Bucky and all things Winter Soldier wasn't so much an automatic good nature, but more of a set of conscious decisions made. The kindness was genuine – that wasn't faked at all. But Wilson was a soldier himself, and a good one, and he was constantly evaluating the situation. He'd made the decision to come in and trust Bucky... and he was doing it deliberately. Where another person would be full of tension, on edge with the wariness, Sam was noting it and then accepting it. His relaxation was a choice, constantly made and remade with each little thing. Tension, deliberation, acceptance. Over and over again.

That... was different. Interesting. 

As Sam explained what 'piggy-back' was, in careful terms that were matter of fact, not condescending, Bucky watched him, catching more of the little reactions that made up all the choices.

It was not what he wanted to do. By preference, Bucky would rather walk on his broken leg. However, he finally agreed to the carry. Mostly because Sam was offering and had put thought into it, and Bucky wanted to explore this more. 

Again, he'd surprised Sam. He could see that clearly in Sam's eyes and reaction when Bucky said okay. But even so, Sam just blinked, then gave him a grin that lit up his whole face, his teeth gleaming and eyes crinkling, delight for the answer. 

Bucky blinked, feeling unexpectedly rewarded and wanting that again. Yes, he could see the why of Steve and Sam. Or at least one part of it.

Taking off his wing pack again, Sam frowned at it, then reversed it so the pack was on his chest and the straps across his back. He crouched down, back towards Bucky. "Hook that up for me, please?"

Bucky snapped them in. "That would be really weird if the wings came out now."

Sam laughed. "That would be a problem for me if they did. But they won't like this – for one, I've got them in manual mode now." 

Interestingly, Sam didn't elaborate on what the other reason or reasons were. There was probably a story there, or something he could use, but now really wasn't the time to explore it. Sam had stayed where he was, not standing again. Expecting... oh. Right. Bucky took hold of Sam's shoulder with his flesh hand, the stick in the other, and levered himself up to standing, keeping most of his weight off his broken leg. 

"You going to be okay with me up against those scrapes of yours?" As Bucky looked at Sam's back, trying to figure out where he would put his arms and legs, he shook his head. "Why don't you have kevlar or other armor on?"

"Scrapes?" Sam stood up and craned his head around but couldn't get the angle. "Oh, that must be why my side is hurting." He reached a hand back, twisting his arm to touch above his hip and then up above. "From the landing, right?

"If you could call it that." Bucky carefully touched Sam's back where the shirt had torn. The pack had protected Sam from most of it, but this close he could see the wounds more clearly. They didn't look too serious, but what did Bucky know? Sam's back felt smooth otherwise. Bucky hadn't touched... well, he had; he'd shaken hands and been on the underground, and had tried to be a normal human being or at least pretend that he was. But Sam knew what he was. 

Bucky dropped his hand. He noticed Sam wasn't answering the question about armor. That was probably prudent, not to tell the Winter Soldier information about special equipment. 

"Any landing you walk away from..." Sam reiterated his earlier joke. Then replied to the earlier question, "It should be fine. They don't feel too bad, and your weight is going to be a lot more for me to worry about, big lug that you are."

Bucky paused.

Sam snorted. "It'll be fine. It's not forever, and I've carried worse." Then Sam paused himself before shaking it off.

Unasked for memories weren't Bucky's domain alone, it seemed.

"As for the shirt..." Sam shrugged. "It's the wings. In the advanced mode, they respond to every tiny movement I make – we're trained to work together, the wings and I, like a horse and rider. But anything with heavier fabric interferes with that reception and response – they can't read me. Not with any accuracy, and I need that accuracy. It's a problem. Stark is working on it. We'll see."

Bucky couldn't help his surprise that Sam had answered that. It wasn't prudent, it probably wasn't smart, and yet. It was something that Sam gave him. Bucky didn't know why. 

Taking a few minutes, Bucky arranged his guns and pack of useful things he'd grabbed on the way out of the bunker, moving them so not to be digging into Sam but Bucky could still get to them if needed. He improvised a loop for the stick, not wanting to lose it or get another right now.

He could always get another. They were in a forest, for god's sake. But Sam had brought this one for him. And... Bucky winced away from more of that. He slung the stick over his back and ignored anything else about it.

"Ready?" Sam crouched again, braced to take Bucky's weight.

"Okay." Per Sam's direction, Bucky climbed carefully onto Sam's back, awkwardly hanging on as Sam stood and then started walking. 

It was hard. A hell of a lot harder than he'd ever thought it might be. 

Not so much the pain and the physical discomfort, but it was hard to be so close to another person, to Sam, in this position. He wasn't helpless as he had been strapped on for flying through the air – and that had been action ongoing and unusual enough to focus him. But this. Not helpless. This wasn't helpless, it was worse. 

Bucky had the advantage in the method that his was the control hanging on, holding to Sam. He could drop off at any moment, and there wasn't a lot Sam could do to him. He didn't have to brace for an attack or fight an instinct against one. The wing pack that had been switched to Sam's chest balanced the weight of Bucky on his back, with Sam commenting it was easier than he'd expected. So Bucky didn't have to worry about Sam falling over from the ungainliness of the situation. 

Sam wasn't the problem at all.

No, the reflexes that Bucky had to overcome while being carried like this were his own. He was trying, so, so hard not to kill Sam. 

He clung to Sam's back as Sam hiked steadily along, and tried not to stare too hard at Sam's neck. From here, he could hurt Sam badly... and his body wanted to. 

He knew, Bucky _knew_ he was a brain-washed assassin who had killed over and over and over again. And it was a useful thing when he was fighting Hydra, when he could just let himself go and watch the bastards fall. The evil that he was, useful for once against that same evil. 

But when he wasn't fighting. When it was with somebody he didn't want to kill. When Bucky was hurting and tired and wanted so badly to rest yet every ounce of his concentration had to go towards _don't kill, don't kill, don't kill_... Bucky was tired. So very, very tired of being who he was.

This position was an assassin's. Being where the prey couldn't shake them. A quick twist of the neck from here. A knife shoved in. A gun. So many ways to kill from here. It was a position of safety where the prey couldn't easily get to them... and a position of advantage for driving home the kill.

It was a measure of Sam's careful trust to put Bucky there.

And it was Bucky's hard work not to betray that trust. 

Walking on his broken leg would be easier. 

Bucky ground his teeth, staring at his metal arm and willing it not to move. His flesh arm was just as traitorous, all things considered, but it was the metal arm that was the symbol of what he was. _Don't kill Sam; don't kill, don't kill._

"It's been fun to be out here in Europe – never had the chance before," Sam said in an easy roll, not letting any tension show in his voice, though Bucky could feel it in his back. He wasn't unaware of what he carried on his back, which made it so much more remarkable. "A lot of new birds for my book, though a surprising number similar. I know they're supposed to be; I know the stats and I've seen them in the books and videos. But it's something else to hear them in person."

"The Falcon does bird-watching?" Bucky forced himself to reply lightly, though he didn't feel it. 

Sam chuckled. "It didn't start with me. That was Dallas, back when we were a flock of Falcons and not a lone one. He used to prattle on about them, and hey, we all learned. Because that's what we did."

Before Bucky could reflect on what Sam had just so casually revealed about his team – something Bucky had known from the records but hadn't really thought about, Sam whistled in short rapid bursts that weren't the right tone but were almost the same rhythm as something they'd been hearing as they walked along. Bucky had thought it was crickets – apparently it was a bird, given their conversation. 

"Locustella fluviatilis, the Eurasian River Warbler," Sam said cheerfully. "I've been seeing them everywhere. It's nice to know our landing didn't scare them off for good." He hummed a little, then whistled a different song – a more piercing and shorter set of chirps. "Now that's the American warbler version, in a way – Northern Waterthrush. So if you're out here and you hear this one..." 

"I'd think somebody's pet got loose," Bucky interjected wryly.

Sam laughed, the sound vibrating through Bucky clinging to his back.

It wasn't so hard in that moment, not to kill Sam. Bucky relaxed, listening to that laughter, feeling it.

The whole rest of the way, Sam kept it up. Different birds, different songs, encouraging Bucky to think without it being too hard. Bucky was grateful.

The Winter Soldier didn't go away – it was a part of him. But the clamor to kill had retreated from the forefront under the bird songs and it was easier not to follow that instinct.

Still, though, when they got to the rocky area and saw the overhang that might be a cave, Bucky lost no time getting off Sam's back and on the ground. The pain in his leg was a welcome relief from the fight inside his head. 

Sam gave him the distance, didn't try and come near, staying unthreatening and outside of easy strike distance. Bucky still could have killed him... but he didn't have to work so hard not to.

After Bucky's breath had stopped coming in gasps, Sam gestured towards the overhang. "I'll scout. Cover me?"

It could be another Hydra bunker, or escape route, or a cache, or any number of dangerous things. The wilderness was not the thing to be feared out here. Bucky nodded and drew one of the guns he'd collected on his way out. 

There was a war inside his head that had nothing to do with the moment. By instinct, Winter Solider instinct, he wanted to go first in – do the scouting himself. But beyond the practicality of his broken leg, there was another echoing instinct that told him to hang back, that it was right and proper for him to cover for somebody else going in. The pain around the echo told him it was probably something having to do with Steve. Which made sense for what he'd read about the old Sergeant Barnes. He'd just never felt something like it before. At least not on this escape. Not until now.

As Sam ventured in and Bucky kept the sightlines as clear as he could, Bucky's hands were as steady and purposeful as always. But his head was a mess. Flashes of forests. Trees. A red, white, and blue disc that he knew. A person holding the shield, that he also knew. Other people coming in behind and around the Captain. He knew them too.

That was the first actual memory of the Howling Commandos to emerge so far. Even reading about them hadn't stirred direct memories. It filled him with more pain than the Captain alone. A team of people who trusted him, who he trusted – with more than just himself. People... friends. Family.

Bucky winced as a live-wire tripped in his brain. Two young girls, laughing and arguing as the three of them played a game.

By the time Sam came back, Bucky was trembling all over, near collapse. "Is it suitable?" he croaked out in a rough approximation of a voice.

"Yeah." Sam eyed him but didn't approach too closely. "It's a shallow cave, bit deeper than an overhang, but doesn't go back too far. No evidence of a cavern underneath, nor of any repurposing of the cave for something else. Animals. Nothing dangerous."

With a nod, Bucky walked towards the shelter. It hurt like bloody hell, trying to not collapse on the bit of weight he would put on the broken leg while using the stick-cane to shift and hop to the strong leg again.

It was a welcome pain. Pain of the body was always easier to deal with than the mess inside his head.

That was, it was easier to deal with as long as he didn't kill Sam by instinct while both types of pain had his mind clamoring and keeping his reasoning a total muddle. If he killed Sam... it would be so much worse.

Bucky chose a protected wall with good sightlines out and in, and sank down, barely less than a controlled fall. He dropped the stick next to him, arranged his guns and knives, then leaned his head against the cool stone and closed his eyes.

He didn't hear Sam.

He was grateful... and worried.

Bucky opened his eyes again, blinking a few times to clear his sight and try and focus. From back where he'd stood originally, covering Sam... There was a bundle on the ground. Two bundles. No Sam. With some focus, he could hear a River Warbler whistling along with a steady tread and occasional scramble. Going away from Bucky... 

Ah. Towards the river. Creek. Stream. Something more than a trickle, less than a river. Sam was probably getting water while he let Bucky recover. Good plan.

Bucky really, really didn't want to hurt Sam. He'd hurt too many people. Killed too many. Good memories were few and far between. He wanted to hold onto this one as long as he could. A person who knew who and what he was, who had no crazy hundred-year old confused loyalty to him, and still reached out and helped.

He tucked the memory carefully into his portfolio. Sam's laughter. That smile. The Falcon, swooping in to steal him from bad things. He put the memory next one of a pair of boys in an alley – not an echo memory, but a more recent one from when he'd been resting in that alley. The two boys had come across him... and offered him their apples and bread. Bucky had accepted, less because he needed the food, than because it would have looked suspicious if he hadn't. But their joint kindness had touched him. Sam's kindness was a more mature type, reasoned and tempered by knowledge... but still kindness.

Kind people died. Often, he was the one who killed them. If not him, then the Hydra monster that stalked him and walked beside and behind him. The boys had survived – that he knew of. He'd left that alley soon after to make sure of it, and the city as well. He really hoped Sam survived too. He didn't know if he could stand being the one to kill such kindness again.

"Stevie, why'd you have to go and save me?" Bucky whispered to the walls. Steve was too friggin good for his own sake – and for the sake of those around him.

The rock wall was cool against his head, against his back. Against his mind. Against his soul.


	3. Chapter 3

The trill of a cockatiel roused him, bringing him into the world again. Whether he wanted to or not. The cockatiel was still some distance away, coming closer. It changed to a plaintive little peeping of baby chickens as it got nearer.

Bucky had to smile. "Yeah. It's okay." He pitched his voice to carry but not too far. The lack of an echo in the cave was reassurance that it wasn't too deep.

Sam came into sight, scooping to pick up his wings and other pack, then striding cheerfully in. He wasn't totally relaxed until he met Bucky's eyes, but he did a good job of casual while cautious. "Hey, do you have to worry about bugs?"

"Bugs?" Bucky blinked, thinking about mosquitos that didn't care he was a super soldier.

"I mean micro-organisms – things in the water." Sam put down the packs and also a couple of plastic canteens he'd filled. They were the collapsible type that looked like IV bags but sturdy and easily packed small. "I have a couple of purification tablets on me, but not more. Didn't gear up for outdoor survival session so I just have the basics on me. Water looks clean enough and it's moving freely, not scummy pond water, but even so, we're not risking a fire for boiling so that risks bacteria."

Bucky was tempted to make another crack about Sam's medical pack taking up space that could have been used for weapons or outdoor survival, but the moment passed it by. Instead, he shook his head carefully. "Unless they're the size of you, water bugs won't bother me. Save your tablets for you."

Sam's mouth lifted in response to the joke and he nodded. He put one canteen to the side and handed the second to Bucky. "I would normally warn you against drinking while gut shot, but in your case..."

"Not gut shot. Chest." Bucky brought the bag to his mouth and tilted it, closing his eyes for how wonderful the cool water tasted. He hadn't had anything to drink for... well, probably days. He wasn't sure how long Hydra had had him before he'd escaped, and they hadn't risked getting near him to feed him.

"Who knows where that bullet bounced around inside you?" Sam questioned wryly. Then he handed Bucky the second canteen. "Guess I'm going back for refills. I'm also not going to warn you about too much water after starving." He rummaged inside his pack while Bucky was drinking the second one.

The pararescue in Sam probably wasn't wrong about the gut shot – Bucky could feel his insides twisting up which meant there was some serious healing going on there somewhere. The water very well could be leaking in... but the healing would take care of that. Bucky tried not to pay much attention to the details, other than what he needed to be useful. The feelings were bad enough while he was experiencing them – he'd prefer not to think about what it was actually doing. Better just to suffer through it. 

The practical soldier Sam, who travelled with super-soldier Captain Rogers, was also right. The water would help him heal, not hurt him. Bucky was no normal human being, if he was human at all. The only thing that kept him thinking he might be human was that Steve was. Steve had had the serum too, and Steve was still the best, most righteous, perfect human on the planet. Just like he'd always been, just now in a body to match. The serum had given Stevie that, so it wasn't all bad. Bucky was the one who was bad, not the serum. If it wasn't for Steve...

Bucky handed the second empty water bottle to Sam. "Thanks," he said with a tired attempt at a grin.

"No problem," Sam responded easily, seeming to mean it. He handed Bucky a couple of food bars, then gathered both empty canteens and headed off again.

He'd left the wings. Bucky eyed them and wondered if falcons were anything like angels in real life. Probably not. It was probably just Sam Wilson.

The food bars were one fruit, one granola. Bucky started to unwrap the granola bar and then stopped himself. He eyed Sam's pack and thought about what he knew. 

By the time Sam got back with more water, Bucky had everything unpacked and sorted. Medical (the largest group), weapons, electronics/computer/comms, and survival/food. The comms booster had been broken when they landed, but Sam also had on him a small computer pad, a phone, and some specialized equipment that might be related to his wings. Though Hydra had been broken and the bunker mostly destroyed, there was still no reception where they were. That was probably just due to a natural remote location, or the jammer could have been located outside the bunker somewhere. Sam had brought spare weapons – not as many as Bucky considered a good supply, but he still approved.

Food and survival was the smallest pile. Sam had concentrated on things that he could work with in the wild, such as fish hooks. The amount of directly consumable food was three bars, a raisin pack, and some sugar drops (which had been in the medical portion, of all the weird packing).

Stopping in the entrance with the two renewed water packs, Sam raised an eyebrow at the inventory. Then he moved forward. "Did I leave anything out we need?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "You seriously overpack on the medical."

"I seriously might need it. Not everybody we travel with is a super-soldier." Sam reached out to the gauze packs and tore one open. He poured water over it, then handed it to Bucky.

Bucky blinked.

"Wash your face?" Sam indicated with a gesture. Then he turned the gesture to the food pile. "You should eat something. If your gut wound isn't going to care about water, the food should also help."

Sam probably had an idea of how long Hydra had been holding him. Bucky wondered what he looked like. He passed the wet gauze over his face and grimaced at the amount of dried blood that came off. Folding it to the inside, he made another pass. By the time he'd used up all possible clear spaces on that pad, Sam had a new wet one for him.

"If that's all the food, you should eat it. I'll be fine; you're not a super-soldier." That was why Bucky had sorted it all out to see how much there was.

Shaking his head, Sam laughed. "I'm the one who will be fine. Hungry, but fine. I'm not a super-soldier and don't have a super-appetite to go with it. Your metabolism runs fast and you burn up a lot of calories with it, plus the healing."

Accidentally dropping the pad, Bucky stared at Sam in sheer surprise. "What?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I've seen Steve eat, man. While he was in the hospital... whenever he gets hurt – the calorie intake doubles, sometimes triples. And his baseline isn't peanuts to start. Both Steve and the doctors said it was his metabolism from the super serum. If you have the same thing, then your caloric needs should be similar, especially with injuries." He nodded at Bucky's leg, with a slight gesture to the chest.

Bucky snorted and picked up the damp pad, turning it to a clean side. "The doctors don't know shit, and I doubt if Steve knows any more himself. He always tended to ignore the science things. Not that the serum is science alone. But the eating... that's just Steve. When he was little we had a hard time getting food. When we had some, when he was sick... hell, even when he was well, we'd all give it to him and tell him to eat." He held the pad to his forehead for a long moment as another set of memories fell through. Talking to Sam about Steve was bringing them out. He would say something without even knowing what he was saying and then the memories would come out after. He'd remembered more in the last hour than he had in a year. It was making him dizzy. "When he was big... if there was food, he'd eat, and enjoy eating. And hell yeah, he'd eat more than any of us. But at the same time, he could pack along with the rest of us on trail and survive just fine. We were on some pretty thin rations at times, and he was giving away food to Jacques." Bucky had to stop to wince. Livewire, hell. That was an explosion, the circuits in his mind all firing up at once, connecting with memories. After closing his eyes for a long moment, he soldiered through and kept on as casually as he could. "Even normally, we certainly weren't eating like you folks do today. Steve doesn't need more food, and I don't either."

"Yeah, okay," Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Steve mentioned the field rations too, though he didn't say why. And I know the doctors weren't up to his level of unusual – we weren't letting any Shield doctors in, not after that. Though I know they looked at him before, which is where he got his other info. But you're the expert in this cave, and I'm not going to argue with an expert." Sam passed another wet gauze pad over. "So... you're not hungry?"

Bucky thought his face was about as clean as it was going to get for the moment, and used the new pad to wash his hands. "I'm hungry; I'm just not going to starve – I _can't_ starve. That would be a pretty piss-poor sort of super-serum designed to heal only to starve us to death instead."

There was a fond grin on Sam's face as he listened while watching Bucky wash his hands. 

The grin faded as he looked up intently at Bucky's eyes... no, higher. "Speaking of healing... I'm guessing that's more recent than it looks. Not today, though?"

Realizing, Bucky reached a newly clean hand up to his forehead, tracing the gash around to the side of his head. It had closed up, but if he could still feel the line where it had been, it must look bad still. "That's from before. It's how they captured me." He dropped his hand and closed his eyes. "They brought the building down. Killed... I don't know how many, but they can't all have survived. The people in the building with me. Just because Hydra wanted me."

Sam hummed thoughtfully. "I think I know what that was. We got there after. Didn't know you were there, but knew it was Hydra. With Union Jack and the locals, we stayed for a week and managed to get just about all of that nest. They'd infiltrated deep, but revealed themselves with that bit of callous destruction. Wasn't just you, either – they'd been covering up some other dirty work, or trying to until we dug it up."

It didn't undo the past, but it made Bucky feel a touch better knowing that cell of Hydra had been captured. Another head cut off, hopefully cauterized. There was a way to kill hydras, no matter what Zola insisted. 

Pain, sharp and intense, shooting through from one side of his head to the other, bouncing around like the bullet in his chest, leaving just as much destruction. Bucky held carefully still until it receded. Memories of Zola were often like that. That one was a cascade. Zolas... so many Zolas... 'cut off one head'... From person of different times and clothing to images on a screen. Always, always, Hydra. Bucky breathed carefully, surviving it, surviving him. Again.

When he could hear something besides the inside of his head again, Sam was describing a scene that involved Steve, a woman, and a translation issue... or so she said. Bucky had missed most of it, but the bits that he did hear... "Stevie and girls; some things never change."

That brought on another cascade, but this one was a gentler, softer one. Still hurt. But it was a familiar hurt, a comforting one. Soothing in the pain. Memories of Steve always did that – hurt so bad yet also filled a hunger inside.

Bucky leaned his head against the cool stone wall and breathed. "Appreciate you, Sam. But you better go away now before I kill you." He wouldn't mean to. He was just that tired.

"Oh, so go away where Hydra can kill me instead?" There was a hint of laughter in Sam's voice, but at the same time serious too.

"Oh fuck you." Bucky opened his eyes and looked away from Sam, to the outside. It was true enough, Hydra was still out there, and they were better off together. But. "I don't want to kill you."

Sam hummed contentedly, apparently reading capitulation in Bucky's words or tone. "You promised me I could look at your wounds."

Bucky was so darn tired. Sam confused him. He was careful and smart, and he evaluated everything – he knew darn well what the dangers were. It wasn't that he thought Bucky was safe. He just... he pushed. He wasn't leaving, wasn't going to leave, and wanted to take _care_ of Bucky. Knowing that Bucky could kill him at any time.

Knocking his head against the wall a few times, Bucky gave up. "Yeah, okay." Using his metal arm, which was still completely functional and didn't hurt like the rest of him, he pulled off his shirt. The rest of him objected to his other arm raising up and pulling at his chest and the wound. Pulling the shirt off also tore off the bandage that was wrapped around his chest. Oops – Bucky had forgotten about that. The conflict of the bandage made the shirt rip some as it came off, but Bucky didn't care. It hadn't been his originally anyhow – he'd grabbed what he could when escaping the bunker. He didn't mind fighting naked if he had to, but pants had pockets and shirts were concealment. This shirt, though, was covered in his blood and hydra blood, and had a fair number of holes and tears in it already. Escaping was rough on clothes.

"Don't---" Sam cut himself off as the shirt came off, his lips pressing together in exasperation. "I swear. You two." He shook his head and then moved closer. 

The angle Sam was leaning in at was awkward, off-balance in a way that made him little or no threat for hurting Bucky, though possibly for hurting himself. By all rights, Bucky should be tensing and worrying about somebody this close to him. Instead, he tensed in a different way, prepared to reach out and catch Sam. Bucky knew it was another one of Sam's calculations, but it worked in a weird sort of way that didn't even make him resent it.

Sam's eyes tracked over Bucky's body, his concentration obvious. Bucky watched his eyes and his gaze. Sam paused briefly on the usual attention-getter of Bucky's mechanical arm and the knotty scars where it attached down the shoulder. Sam's main focus, though, wasn't on that, but on the multiple wounds crossing the flesh part of his body, the hole in the chest in particular. "May I?" Sam nodded towards it, raising his hand but not touching.

Bucky glanced down and saw the wound bleeding. Not like it had been before, at least. This seemed to be a combination of him moving his arms and pulling the bandage off. Yeah, that wasn't the smartest of moves. But gentle wasn't his thing.

While Bucky considered, Sam held his pose, his hand out but not touching until Bucky nodded. Then he touched. His touch was light, but not so light that it tickled. He touched to the side of the wound, pressing in a little. Then he moved outward. Bucky saw that his body was bruising up under all the dried blood – the interior wound causing blood spillage inside his body as well as out. 

"I don't know how this didn't hit the lungs." Sam rested his fingers over a couple of ribs, apparently feeling the movement as Bucky breathed.

Wrinkling his nose, Bucky coughed in memory. "It did. That just sealed up before you landed."

Sam almost lost his balance, he drew back so sharply. Bucky reached out to steady him. Sam opened his mouth and then closed it again. He studied Bucky's chest. "I want to say that's impossible, but..."

Bucky shrugged. He was used to impossible things. 

"Steve doesn't heal this quick." Sam leaned in again, but didn't touch.

Bucky missed the touch. He stomped down on that thought and shrugged again. "My serum has had a lot of practice. Steve's... hasn't." And he didn't really want Steve to get the experience that would entail. 

Sam shot him another intense look. "Practice." He looked at the chest wound again and shook his head. Then he glanced at Bucky's leg and raised his eyebrow.

"One, a broken bone isn't just flesh and blood," Bucky lifted his hand and put out his index finger. Then he raised another finger. "Two, I was trying to stand on it and it couldn't pull back together while I was doing that. But mostly, three, my serum was – and is – concentrating everything it has on the damn chest wound. Leg is annoying but not as vital." Tactically, the leg was vital for getting away, but the serum went for basic survival first. He could feel his insides itching, a low burning where things were going back together. It was going to take awhile. He'd had a lot more practice than Steve, but some things one didn't just shrug off.

Settling back on his heels, Sam regarded Bucky, his eyes tracking over his body from head to chest to leg and then repeating the course. 

Bucky could see him thinking about all of that, accepting Bucky's word, and the direct evidence of his eyes, but also trying to figure out how he could help. Sam wasn't a scientist, trying to figure out the serum from what Bucky was saying and what he was seeing – he was a healer, trying to help. 

There was a pang in Bucky's chest that had nothing to do with the wound. Nice people. Nice people died when they tried to help him. It was something almost universal. There was a cascade of memories that he did not want, reminding him of all the times it was a bad, bad idea to have nice people help him. He leaned his head against the wall, but didn't close his eyes. He kept them open and watching Sam. Sam was a nice person, who was also Steve's friend. He was more than the others. He would survive. Bucky hoped.

Finally, Sam asked, still frowning. "So, once the chest is done, the leg will start healing?"

Bucky nodded. More or less.

"Will it heal like that?" Sam nodded at the obvious bend. "You say it's not just a fast metabolism, but the break is out of alignment..."

Not a scientist, but smart and thinking. "It'll align itself while healing. However messed up things are, it will pull everything back the way it's supposed to be." Bucky thought of a different way to put it. "It's less like enhanced healing than a reset to a default. Things don't heal – they get fixed." 

The reset wasn't exactly to his original default either, though it was a lot closer on him than Steve's. The pictures of the little Steve felt so much more familiar to him, though the large Steve wasn't wrong either. He knew what the histories said, and what he was supposed to know. The pictures of Bucky back then... they were close. Yet even beyond the metal arm, he was not quite the same. Steve had still recognized him, though. Had recognized him, called him, and refused to give up on him. The beginning of the now, even as the before trickled in.

Sam blinked and then stared at him. After a moment, he said, "huh," accepting that. Another period of time went by before a question. "What about your arm? Why didn't it grow back?"

Bucky hid his grin. It was a logical progression, but not everybody would connect the two, and from those, fewer would ask. Sam was definitely Steve's companion. He would have fit in well with the Howlies as well. And that was an odd thought when he didn't even remember his old companions. They were a part of him, though – a part that was reviving the more time he spent with Sam.

"From what I can figure out, it was starting to – that's what made this thing possible." He lifted his metal arm and flexed the fingers. He didn't remember hardly anything from the actual time of forging – he rather thought he'd been more damaged than just the arm. But every new awakening, the scientists would have their go at him, and some of those he remembered. He'd been actively trying to recover memories that would help him survive, and his healing and what the scientists knew about him was part of that. Even if a lot of those memories also meant he didn't sleep well at night. 

"That is just so _weird_ ," Sam sighed. "But I won't say it's the weirdest thing I've encountered yet." He smiled at Bucky. "I'm glad of it, though, because you're looking much better. Something I don't usually see in the field."

That brought a set of flashes of tents or buildings with rows of people on cots. It was identifiable as one of the older memories from the uniforms the wounded and nurses wore. He didn't try and figure any details from it, but the general sense was complete agreement with what Sam said.

"Don't think that just because I heal, I didn't need you," Bucky said softly. "The serum might heal the body... but that just makes me all the more valuable to Hydra. I am their Asset, and they want me back. They have the means to take all this away, given the time and resources. They would have done it. My body can heal... but they can take me." Him. His self. This self. "This isn't the first time. They might be in disarray right now, but they've got the procedures. Once I was down..."

"This isn't the first time?" Sam repeated.

"It's the first time with Steve," Bucky replied with a small, wistful, smile. Steve being alive was something miraculous. Steve was alive. Every time he remembered that, he just had to stop and marvel at that. "It's not the first time I've broken conditioning and run away from Hydra. They try and wipe those memories the most; more, even, then the original ones. But just by it happening, it triggers them. So I remember."

Sam stared at him for a long, long moment, his eyes bright and curious – and also fierce, like he wanted to go rescue all of those past Buckies as well. "You're something else. I wanted to protect Steve from you, but you've got that covered all on your own. Him, and you as well. Good. Taking care of yourself is the most important part. I thought it would be bad... but you're pretty dang awesome."

Bucky blinked. He opened his mouth to ask a question, and Sam waved him down.

"Later. As remarkable as you are, you're at your limit, and there'll be time for all that later. I got distracted, sorry. What needs sorting out right now is your leg. I accept that you've got the chest wound covered... but while that's healing, the leg won't, and if you need to walk, it's going to be a problem."

True enough. Bucky grimaced, aiming the look at his leg in utter frustration.

"You say the leg will eventually heal, but truth yes or no – it'll heal _faster_ back in alignment and with proper care?"

Bucky sighed, giving in. "Yes, it will." He had already gone this far, and Sam had the advantage of knowing what being with Steve was like. Bucky's serum had more practice... but the basics were similar. With a normal human, Sam would probably never touch it – splint and wait for the hospital after rescue. But Sam was very practically adjusting to Bucky's augmented healing and going for the next logical steps in it. Unlike a normal human, Bucky wouldn't be in danger from getting his leg straightened out in a cave in the middle of nowhere, and it really would heal faster that way – the serum could realign parts, but it worked faster if they were aligned to start.

"Well, then..." Sam tilted his head, waiting for the next argument.

Bucky repeated the deep breath in and out. "It will hurt, and I don't want to hurt you."

That bright, brilliant smile flashed out again, taking Bucky's musty feelings by surprise. There was nothing to smile at here.

"You wouldn't be the first grumpy, delirious, spooked soldier I've treated in the field." Given tact permission, Sam was re-assembling his medical kit around him as he spoke, picking out specific items. "I guess you wouldn't be up on modern football... baseball? Steve likes that, though he complains about it too."

What on earth did that have to do with anything? "I... don't know." Bucky looked nervously at his metal hand, flexing his fingers. He didn't doubt Sam's competency, but the Winter Soldier was something else again.

"Hey," Sam paused until Bucky looked up at him. "I know. But I'm not trusting in my ability to protect myself, you see – I'm trusting in you."

"That is a very bad idea."

The smile came back, a little softer, a whole lot sweeter. This new companion of Steve's was a charmer. Bucky had read that once upon a time he'd been that way too. He didn't remember. 

Sam waved a pair of scissors in a gesture towards Bucky's pants leg. Like the shirt, Bucky had acquired the pants along the way and had no problems with them being cut. Sam wasn't going to hurt him. He repeated the thought to himself, and then added on 'with the scissors' in his mind. That went over better and he nodded.

"Ah. I've got it. Have I told you about how Steve and I first met?" Sam's tone was light and casual.

Bucky opened his mouth to say something sarcastic about how they had just met, so no. Then he changed his mind and decided to just let it roll. "Not that I remember," he said wryly. He glanced down at his leg where the lower part quite definitely didn't match the rest, and not in the same way his metal arm didn't. He didn't usually react to his injuries, but thinking about it, watching Sam getting ready to do something about it... it wasn't a good mindset. People working on him were usually not trying to help. He regarded his metal arm for a moment, then punched down on the ground, creating little holes for his fingers to grip inside of. If he was holding to the rock, he couldn't hit Sam. Unless he let go. He wouldn't let go. Bucky closed his eyes and took several long, deep breaths, centering himself deep into Winter Soldier land where he could ignore pain and distractions for what was important. Hopefully just not so deep that he couldn't remember that Sam was a friend. 

"Right then," Sam only glanced at the metal hand digging into the floor before he returned his attention to the leg. He put thin gloves on, then touched Bucky's bare leg, placing his fingers but firmly, feeling for the mis-aligned bones. "So there I was, jogging alone at pre-sunrise o'clock, doing laps around the Reflecting Pool. Not a lot of us at that time, so I was a bit surprised to have a jogger passing me by, with a polite jogger's warning to let me know he was coming up from the side. Not bad-looking from behind either, I'll admit. Faster clip than I liked to run, that was for sure. He couldn't keep that up for long, I knew. Thought I knew. I lost track of him as the lap separated us. Then the arrogant prick passed me _again_."

Bucky smiled, picturing it. He was trying not to feel his leg as Sam poked at it. The chatter helped focus his mind away from it. Other than the most immediate memory of beating Steve up, his other memories mostly were of little Steve. Not a lot of solid stuff, but just there and everywhere. Little Steve would have done that if he could have. Challenging others always; pushing himself despite his body. Now, a little punk still in his self, and also delighting in a strong body that _could_ out-run one like Sam's. He would definitely have done that.

Sam kept talking, describing everything with humor and sarcasm and painting a picture of Steve that was true to Bucky's soul, even if he didn't _know_ it himself. Then in the midst of the patter, Sam yanked on his leg, pulling and twisting as he kept talking.

Bucky barely kept the scream back. Winter Soldier or not, that _hurt_ , and he'd just started to relax. Which was probably most of the point of Sam's prattle. Relaxed muscles moved easier than tense ones. Once he started breathing again, Bucky could feel the rightness of his leg again. Well, somewhere in there between all the pain.

Sam was still talking about Steve. 

Bucky focused not so much on the words as the knowledge that it was Steve... Steve who knew him, whom he knew without actually knowing, Steve was a friend of Sam's; Sam was a friend of Steve's. Sam had called Bucky friend, and even though it hurt, hurt, hurt, Sam was not to be hurt back. Sam knew Steve, and he was talking about Steve. There was nothing for the Winter Soldier here, not like this.

"Hey," Sam's voice was gentle and soft, care and compassionate understanding layered in the words he spoke. "You okay? Want to lay down now?"

The leg was straightened and re-sprinted. Bucky could relax. Though he couldn't, not yet. Everything still hurt, and his instincts were still geared towards reacting to that. He forced himself to open his metal hand, where the rock he'd been grabbing was now dust and rubble. "Not yet." He opened and closed the hand a couple of times, then picked up another rock. Just in case. Not that he couldn't use the rock as a weapon either. But, he _was_ a weapon. And so far, Sam had survived him. 

Sam nodded. He reached for Bucky's canteen and another gauze pad. "Okay if I clean some of your other wounds? I know it doesn't matter, but..."

But it would keep Sam near him while Bucky tried to recover. Bucky wasn't so sure about that tactic, but he nodded anyhow. Sam had been right so far. "Talk to me," Bucky requested. "Remind me you're a friend." He was tired, and he didn't want to make a mistake. He really, really didn't want to make that particular mistake. Coming back to being a human being was hard enough, and he thought he'd shatter everything he'd put together if he messed this up. 

Sam hummed a melodic tune that Bucky didn't recognize. "Was the talk about Steve okay? You seemed... conflicted on it." Doing the slightly awkward kneeling again, Sam leaned in and wiped around the chest wound; not touching it directly, but getting around it. He expanded outward from there.

"It was good," Bucky admitted. "Not something Hydra would talk about, and you and he... It's not me, it's you, and it's him." His head was hurting with all the random bits. But Sam's tales were of the now, and they were of Sam and Steve. Nothing to harm Bucky, nothing to worry about there.

"But?" 

"Thinking about Steve gives me a headache," Bucky also admitted to after a pause and a sigh. "Memories... each new one – well, old one come again – is like a welder soldering down the loose connection, with just as much fire and pain as that sounds like."

Pausing with the pad on Bucky's flesh shoulder, Sam looked up to meet Bucky's gaze for a long moment, evaluating that.

"But that's good too," Bucky said lowly, "because then I have more of Steve than just my fists slamming into his head over and over again."

After another moment, Sam resumed cleaning, carefully checking each wound he exposed. "Well, I do have a lot of Steve stories, that's true. All the time we've been after your ass, that's a lot of travelling built up together."

Bucky smiled tiredly. "Glad to have been useful for something."

Sam flicked his gaze from the wounds to Bucky's mouth, returning the smile with one of his own. Then he looked down again. "Steve is a little shit, most of the time. Not quite the Captain America the world thinks it knows, that's for sure."

The corners of Bucky's mouth moved. There was another thing that rang true to his soul, big or little, young or old, past or present. "He's a punk."

Pausing in his ministrations, Sam laughed harder than the statement warranted. He shook his head. "I know what you mean, but there was a music movement in the 80s called punk rock... and I'm now picturing Steve with a straight-up mohawk, maybe edged in green..."

Bucky chuckled. "He's almost there. Steve... you know, if you lock him inside, don't let him get any sunlight and trim his hair, he goes dark. That blond of his? All a lie; only in the sun. So he's already punk-edged, just gotta stick it up."

Sam cracked up. "Oh, man. Oh, we've got to do that to him."

That 'we' in the sentence took Bucky aback and made him quiet. He wasn't so sure about that.

Sam kept talking. He probably noticed the quiet but he gave Bucky it in peace, while still following Bucky's directives. "Steve has this really bad habit of messing with people. He's polite and nice on a basic level, and likes to champion any wrong he comes across, no matter how little... but that habit also makes him the world's worst casual traveler. We stop for groceries, and he sees a bored clerk ignore a teen looking lost in the laundry isle." Sam paused. "Not lost, lost. Lost in looking over the products with a glazed eye."

"I've been there," Bucky admitted. "Why does the future need 20 brands of detergent?"

"Steve's said the same thing." Sam shifted his weight for better balance. Bucky didn't react, trusting in Sam so close. "So he goes to the clerk and starts asking him about the types, in a really loud voice. The kid turns to listen. The clerk really couldn't care less, but nobody ignores Steve when he looms like he does."

That was different. Everything up until then was something Bucky had automatically been picturing with little Steve. Looming, though... that wasn't ever something Stevie had done before his new body. He'd sure _tried_ to – glowering full on looking with disapproving eyes even while standing half a bully's height. And that sharp tongue of his. With the bigger body, the tongue had smoothed out some; Bucky figured it had been replaced with the looming.

Sam wrapped that story up, sitting back as he did so.

Bucky missed the touch, and the voice, and he missed Steve like hell, even with Sam so near to him. Near to Steve, near to him.

"Better?" Sam's voice returned. "Think you can get some rest?"

"Yeah..." Bucky sighed. He was tired, and in spite of all that he was, he trusted Sam. He slipped down the rock to curl with his back against the wall and a gun and knife in easy reach. "You'll keep watch?"

"Absolutely," Sam replied, resettling himself on the same wall as Bucky but closer to the opening. 

Good sightlines there, though more exposed than Bucky would have preferred. Then again, Bucky'd already taken the best spot. He thought about shifting further in, but he just didn't want to move any more. He watched through mostly-closed eyes as Sam lifted his wing pack into his lap and attached some of the electronic gadgets to it. Sam's attention continually shifted from the wings to the outside, doing his due diligence for watch while sensibly using the time for repairs. First he fixed Bucky, now he was fixing the wings. But Bucky couldn't fly. Though he guessed the wings couldn't either – not without Sam.

"Talk some more?" Bucky requested. He was almost out. But he still wanted more. Just that little bit more. Not to lose this, not while he had it. 

"Sure," Sam instantly responded. "So Steve's a bit of a bull when focused on something – ignoring all else in his path while charging forward."

Bucky smiled and closed his eyes, listening. He was picturing little Stevie and it _fit_ even though he knew Steve had changed. Changed and not changed. It was so damn good that Steve was alive.

"While we've been chasing you all over the place, he wouldn't do anything for himself. Not a darn thing, no matter how long on the road we'd been."

That sort of thing used to result in Steve getting sick. His mom would have to bully him into taking care – nobody else had nearly as good results, not even Bucky. With the new body, there was even less reason for Steve to slow down.

"So I finally put it to him – made him a bargain. For every place we stopped at more than just one night, we had to do something just for us. Not for the search, not for whatever local hero or law enforcement that Steve had hooked up, not for anything at all. Just for the sake of doing it. And we had to trade off – I'd chose one, then he'd chose the next. Didn't have to be long or short or cheap or expensive... just had to be something we wanted to do."

Not just for Steve, for Sam too. Sam got Steve to do something good by appealing to his competitive self and his sense of fairness to Sam. Sam was clever. Steve tended to run right over Bucky and drag him along for the ride, but it sounded like Sam wasn't so weak. He was good for Steve.

There was a sound besides Sam's voice, and Bucky opened his eyes to watch as Sam pulled the wing out, angling it where it would be less visible from the outside. The wingspan wouldn't have fit well deeper in the cave. Another reason for Sam taking the watch position where he was. 

Sam started describing not their first extra, but one along the way after Steve had gotten used to it. A trip to the zoo. Bucky closed his eyes again, smiling as Sam described it. He wanted to explain how Steve had had allergies and couldn't ever go before, but he was too tired. The story didn't need him. It just needed Sam's voice, sharing a part of Steve with a Bucky who couldn't remember. Did remember. Didn't. Was all mixed up and hurting and the world was hell, but there was a little slice of good still there with Steve and Sam. 

\--- ---


	4. Chapter 4

Initially, Bucky slept lightly, waking up every time he slipped deeper. But each time he woke to Sam's voice, talking of Steve. It was a cozy, warm blanket, like being curled up by Steve's side, wrapped in security and trust. Just the same, or different, but same. A different fabric, but the same warmth and comfort. He finally didn't fight the deeper pull when it next came for him, slipping under knowing he was safe. It was something he would have thought about more, but he was asleep.

When he woke up, there was less light and what there was had the haze of a setting sun. He lay still for a moment, getting his bearings.

"...Omnivore. I swear, the man will eat _anything_. Useful trait, I admit, but one wonders if the guy has any taste buds at all."

Sam's voice was still there. Hoarse now, scraping the limits of time and only a single bottle of water, but still there.

Bucky's grip on the knife relaxed. He hadn't even known he was holding it, though he woke up with it more often than not. His favorite teddy bear. No need. Not with Sam. Bucky sat up and stretched.

Sam didn't stop his story, but his attention turned away from the wings and outside to inside the cave, focusing on Bucky. 

That had to have been a good three or four hours of sleep, real sleep. With a yawn, Bucky stretched again, feeling the pull around his chest. It was better. Leg was still hurting – but it was hurting now in the way that said some of the serum was working on it. Not entirely, there was still a lot up top – Bucky felt where the bullet had entered, and then a little lower. Yeah, Sam had been right about the bullet bouncing around. But it was doing well, all things considered. Lots better than if he'd been in a Hydra cell, that was for certain.

"I wish all my patients were like you," Sam said after the end of his latest tale. His eyes roamed over Bucky, cataloging and approving.

While Bucky liked having Sam's regard... he had to refute the statement. "No, you don't." Not like him. Not like him with his brain-washed self, his Hydra past, his kills and his murders. His self.

Sam opened his mouth, perhaps to refute in turn, but then he closed it with a sigh and spread his hand out in a gesture of apology. He was holding a small tool in that hand.

"How are the wings?" Bucky asked, shifting to get a feel for how well the rest of him was. How prepared for movement he could be. The metal arm flexed easily – no problems there, as usual.

With a sigh, Sam folded the wing back in, snapping the tool in place as he did so. "Getting there. It's in the circuits, sure enough, but the way it blew out requires little fiddly work on every segment along the line to get it back up. Another couple hours should do it, but that's about as far as I can get in this light anyhow."

Bucky glanced out across the land.

"No signs of anything – neither multi-headed serpents, nor the dulcet sounds of Steve blowing stuff up."

Sam sounded a little discouraged by the last. Bucky hadn't counted on it as much as Sam had, so he was less surprised. He also didn't mind postponing any future meetings with Steve directly. He missed Steve but he wasn't ready for him. He didn't think he would ever be, if it was up to him. "Hydra or Steve, what a choice." He said it flatly, not really meaning it... but at the same time, very much meaning it. How could he want something so much and be so very afraid of it?

"Hey." 

There was a pause, and when Bucky looked up, he realized Sam had been waiting for his attention. The other man was fading to a silhouette in the twilight, but Bucky still didn't ready anything but kindness from him.

"You don't have to." There was a pause and then Sam expanded. "If you don't want to be rescued by Steve, you don't have to. I'm good with stepping out and sending Steve off in another direction while we get you hooked up. Or being rescued on my own, for that matter, though I'd recommend against it. Whatever you want. Your choice. If you want Steve to back off, he will. He only just ever wants to know that you're all right."

"That's not ever going to happen," Bucky sighed. "Not this side of the century. 'All right' just isn't in my cards. Nice thought, though." He shook his head, clearing out all his conflicting thoughts. "I gotta use a tree. Going to let me up?"

Sam snorted. He put the wings carefully to one side and stood up himself, wincing as he did so. "Oh, that rock is not a cushion." 

"Try sleeping on it," Bucky grumbled. Accelerated healing not currently helping with that problem. He reached for his stick.

"Was that an offer?" Sam asked, his voice sparkling with humor.

Bucky really liked this friend of Steve's. He really did. "Yeah. I'll take next watch, if you're good."

There was pain, there was banter, there was a tree, there were some rocks – there wasn't a stream. Sam put the kibosh on letting Bucky walk that far. But he did go out himself and refill the canteens. Bucky made sure that Sam still had another purification tablet – one left for the morning – and then made him eat the fruit bar. They left the last granola bar, both of them stubbornly insisting on the other. They bickered comfortably, familiarly. 

Bucky knew all about how supposed care in the midst of torture could turn a person towards the one even slightly, infinitesimally better than the other. Reaching for any sort of connection. And hope. But this. This was care from somebody whose job it was to care, not to hurt. A soldier, yes. But a healer. And a friend of Steve's. Bucky thought this might actually be real. Maybe not. But he thought it could be. He didn't know how Sam felt, not really, but on his side, he was starting to think this could be a friend.

When they were both in the cave again, Bucky settled in his same place – he knew the sightlines from there, even in darkness. Sam moved to the other side, interior, putting Bucky between him and the world. He handed Bucky his goggles, then laid down against the wall. With a hiss, he shifted as he settled on the wrong side first. 

It was cold outside, wasn't it? Bucky didn't feel weather quite so much. At least not the cold. It couldn't be too bad. There wasn't any snow, and plants were still alive. But plants were used to the changes of the weather. 

"Wasn't there something labeled as a blanket in those supplies of yours? It was super small to be one but this is the future..."

Sam chuckled as he rolled to the other side. "It's a full blanket – really effective too. Problem is, it's bright silver and _crinkles_ worse than cicadas. It's partially just the material, but it was also designed to attract rescuers' attention."

Bucky grimaced. They didn't want any attention at all drawn to them. Quite the opposite. So, no blanket. 

"You can tuck in, if you want." Bucky patted the side next to him. He hadn't done this in a long, long, time, but it felt right. One short and lean, one tall and lean, one skinny, one broad, one sturdy. And Steve. Commandos, all piling in like puppies, or wolf-hounds, as they needed. His pack, part of him. His heart ached with the same sort of torn response as when he thought of Steve. He remembered them. He finally remembered them. And damn, but he missed them. He hadn't known what he missed until now. Still, he wouldn't trade this regained flash of a sense memory for anything. To be without heartache was to be the Asset. The Asset felt nothing, nothing for himself, nothing for another. This was the pain of a human being, who missed his friends. Who _had_ friends. It was a good pain.

There had been a rather long pause after Bucky's offer, but finally Sam moved near. He started to simply lay on the ground next to Bucky, but Bucky rather ruthlessly shifted Sam until he'd turned so his head was resting on Bucky's shins, and the rest of him curled up against Bucky's warmth. It wasn't perfect, but it would do. Most heat was lost from the head, and as long as that was protected...

Snow-packed memories cascaded through, flashing scenes without context or a lot of background. The wrong sort of memories. Bucky winced as he identified the Soviet uniform and the hats and... It was the period when their brainwashing had relied on making him think he was somebody else, instead of just wiping him altogether. Bucky hated those memories. They were real and false at the same time. Most of the people he worked with didn't know any different than he himself had. Until, as was inevitable with him, the conditioning started to break down. Then, the betrayal.... 

He wasn't quite sure, but he almost thought he preferred the memories of the Asset. Mindless obedience was easier to disassociate from, to watch them through the haze and know they were him but not to _feel_ it so much.

With a wrench of mental effort, Bucky desperately thought about the Howling Commandos again, trying to call up their memories instead. Sam was on his flesh side, and he rested his hand carefully on Sam's side. Sam stirred a bit when he did so, but quickly stilled. Sam was awake, but doing his usual evaluation then relaxation. He wasn't like any of the Commandos, not directly, but he would have fit with them. They would have welcomed him. Even without all his memories, Bucky instinctively knew that bone deep to be true. Sam fit, like he could have always been there.

Maybe Bucky could have a pack again. A pack of Sam. And Steve. Always Steve. But Bucky would like Sam too, if Steve was willing to share, if Sam was willing to be shared. The Commandos had all been each other, friendship and bonds tied deep. Individually and altogether. 

Sam had had a pack like that once before, the way he spoke of a falcon without its flock. It had been a brief reference, and quickly moved on, but Bucky had noted then something he'd identified with. Now he knew what it was. Sam had Steve now, in place of a flock. Maybe he would want Bucky too?

With that on his mind, and memories of Commandos to dwell upon, Bucky turned his attention to quietly watching through the rest of the night.

\---- ---

A little less darkness in the sky, brightening slowly with the reserve effect of twilight. Dawn emerging, with shapes slowly forming and colors blossoming in. Animals started to awaken. Stirring of the little ones on paws, heading for the stream or just scampering in the trees. A bird song in the distance as someone woke up. Then another one.

"A little grebe," Sam remarked quietly. "And a... bee-eater? We're out of its range, I would think."

Bucky nearly jumped. Only years of Winter Soldiering kept him still. He hadn't known Sam was awake. 

"Sorry," Sam said apologetically. "It's just that this time I'm the one who needs the tree."

Bucky wasn't quite up to talking yet, but he took his hand off Sam and nodded. He wouldn't mind a trip himself. 

It took Sam awhile to stand up, making cute little grumbling noises as he did. Bucky stood when Sam finally got up, using the stick and wall to leverage himself up. The leg wasn't repaired, not with only a few hours of rest and watch, but it was better than it had been the day before. 

"Don't step wrong," Sam ordered. "We don't want that break to slip and break again."

"Yessir, Master Sergeant," Bucky snapped a salute.

Sam laughed. He reached up above himself and stretched, reaching towards the top of the overhang. "Ow! Shit! Damn!" Both arms came down again, the right faster than the left. Sam reached to grab that arm, then let go – it wasn't the arm itself, apparently. He clamped the arm tight to his side instead.

Anxiously, Bucky stepped up, looking him over. "Your scrapes are bleeding again. I think you split the seals. Is that normal?"

"Scrapes. Ah shit, I forgot about those." Sam twisted around in an attempt to look at them, but gave it up with another hiss of pain. "God Damn it all to Hell and count me down as an idiot. Physician _don't_ heal thyself. Damn it."

The swearing was highly unusual for the normally taciturn Falcon. Bucky had watched the videos of his attack on them, had dug up what he could, had watched them a few times they'd gotten near before he'd slipped off again. Sam didn't swear. Not like that. "Are you going to die?" Bucky's fears of the day before rebounded twenty times a hundred harder for knowing Sam now. For daring to think he might have a friend.

"What?" Sam turned to him, incredulous. "No! Geez, it's just a..." he cleared his throat, then said with a suspiciously straight face, "it's just a flesh wound." He swallowed whatever joke that had been, and reached out, holding his hand briefly to make sure Bucky was okay before resting it on his shoulder. Bucky's metal shoulder, but Sam didn't seem to care. "It's fine, Bucky. I'm not going to die."

"But something's wrong." Bucky wanted to reach up and cover Sam's hand with his own. He didn't. He couldn't. 

Sam shrugged, wincing again. "The wounds are probably infected – they hurt like the blazes now, and that's not life-threatening, but... Remember what I was saying yesterday about why I'm not wearing kevlar? The wings and I work together – they respond to my every move and I direct what we're going to do. But now ---" Sam raised his left arm. He only made it half way up this time before he winced again and lowered it. "Not to mention the straps are going to go right over that whole swollen area. Damn it. I should have taken care of it." 

Bucky trembled. It was because of him. Sam couldn't be the Falcon because he'd spent so much of himself on Bucky instead, and Bucky hadn't returned any of that care. Pack or flock, Bucky obviously wasn't ready to be part of one yet. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Torn off another wing.

"What? No!" Sam spoke the same words, but a different focus. He moved his hand up to Bucky's face. "It's okay. Geez. That's my bad, not yours. You were barely functioning and still pushing through – man, you're something else, really you are. You didn't know, and I didn't say. You did your job, and you did it awesomely. Me, I'm the one who fell down there. And hell, even if I had cleaned them, they might have gotten infected anyhow – sliding along a hill full of dirt will do that. Don't worry about it."

Sam's voice had been full of sincerity, and his fingers were sure of their placement. He really didn't think Bucky had done anything wrong, and he liked Bucky... well, admired him. Not always the same thing. Maybe he liked him? Bucky let out a breath. "You're sure?"

Sam smiled, that blindingly sweet and brilliant grin of his. A sun rising with bird song and hope. "I'm sure. Hey, let's go get those trees."

They were coming back, gently rough-housing and teasing as they went, when Sam stopped suddenly.

Bucky took two steps to the side, covering Sam. He didn't see anything, the birds hadn't stopped their morning chirps...

"Sorry," Sam put his hand on Bucky's shoulder and gave him a slight push. "That wasn't an enemy spotting – that was me with an idea. It just fell from the sky and I had to take a moment to admire it properly."

Bucky put his gun away and stopped blocking Sam. He was good and awake now, with that jolt of adrenalin. Less carefree than a minute before too, reminded of Hydra still after them, still close by. They would be on the hunt again, starting with the light if they hadn't been working through the night. "What?"

They got to the stream to refill Bucky's water bag (Sam's was still mostly full), and Sam turned and grinned at him. "You said yesterday you wanted to fly..."

Bucky blinked. Then blinked again as he figured out the meaning. He drew his breath in sharply. "Your wings...?"

"Fledgling, I proclaim you," Sam said lightly. "I'm going to teach you how to fly." His smile stayed bright and happy, eyes dancing with fun and joy.

Bucky wanted to. Oh, he wanted to. To join Sam's flock and circle in the sky... "Doesn't it need practice?"

Sam hand-waved that off. "There's a fledgling mode on the wings. I just have to authorize you as a valid user – needs a dna for the first time with my confirmation and then just fingerprint with body measurements after that, unless something changes, when it'll need dna to affirm again. Get you in the system and turn it to fledgling. Oh, and finish fixing them too. We'll have you flying out of here before noon."

"With you." Bucky wasn't leaving Sam. Not now, and especially not without his wings.

"Well, it's harder to learn to fly carrying somebody... we'll see how you do solo first. I'm sure you'll pick it up." Sam kept grinning at him, delighted and sharing it.

There was an explosion off beyond the hill. Both of them turned to look as they also faintly heard the sounds of gunfire.

"And there's Steve now," Sam said happily. "Him and Union Jack are just on time. But we'll rescue ourselves first, eh?"

"Yes," Bucky breathed, grinning back. Yes, they would.

\-- --


	5. Chapter 5

That set the tone for the next few hours. Sam pulled the wings out and opened them up. Bucky let it taste his blood with only a minor qualm, reassured by Sam's immediately doing the same, along with his authorization codes. Then Bucky could use Sam's wings. Well, he couldn't, not until they were fixed. But he could. Sam had done this for him. For Sam too. For them as a team. It was all Bucky wanted. He sat happily by Sam's side as Sam took up fixing the wings again, explaining the theory of flying, and flying fledgling mode – with the arms locked to the wings and controlling the flight more directly that way. Sam used his arms with the wings sometimes, but as equally often without. He explained the difference that came with practice and control. And the wings getting to know their flyer. Every set of wings had its idiosyncrasies, and falcons learned their own.

"This set..." Sam reached out and patted the wings fondly, caressing them. "This set was Rene's initially. There were only a few of us to make it out of the program with both body and wings intact – and I wasn't one of them. My last mission... I made it back with the patient, barely. But my poor wings were trashed. They'd taken the brunt of a ground strike while I was working on the patient, and they saved our lives... but that was it. I was out after that." Sam paused, stilling his work and looking out over the horizon. He coughed, turning his head to spit out before he finished. "It was hard to leave. I could stay without Riley, barely, but I couldn't stay without my wings."

Bucky swallowed. Sam had lost so much. He wondered whose the wings he'd torn up had been, what memories he'd destroyed along with the artifact. 

"Anyhow, Rene wouldn't begrudge me the use, and they're mine now." Sam patted them again, then went back to tediously reconnecting circuits. "I let Stark make some adjustments, but he had to promise to leave the basic core of the wings alone. I think he's busy with plans for new ones, but we'll see."

Sam paused to wipe the sweat off his forehead, then went back to discussing the fledging control of wings and wind currents vs jet.

A few minutes later, he coughed again, and stopped to take a sip from his water bag. Then he frowned at it. He wiped his forehead again, and looked at his hand. Then he glanced out over the valley. "Hey Bucky, is it hot out here?"

"Not to me," Bucky replied. "But I'm a bad judge of temperature. It doesn't affect me as much so I don't care anymore." He looked at the sweat that had promptly dotted Sam's skin again. "Is it hot?"

"I don't think so." Sam drew a deep breath in that rattled at the deepest part and he coughed again. "God Damn It." He closed his eyes and sighed. "That's all I need."

"Are you..." Bucky paused. Sam was obviously not completely okay, but Bucky wasn't sure what, exactly... He was abruptly propelled into a series of flash memories of Steve coughing and coughing and Bucky either hovering worriedly while Steve's mom prepared hot water and a towel for Steve to breathe the steam in, or Bucky doing the same. There was also the sweat, and the coughing, and a body so weak, Bucky was frantic with worry. "Steve," he breathed out, the memories overwhelming to break the current moment. 

Then he shook it off to focus on Sam. "The pneumonia?" 

Sam blinked in the middle of another cough, ending up halfway choking. "What is it with you and worse case scenarios?"

"It's what Steve used to get. Most every winter. The winters he didn't get the pneumonia, he'd have bronchitis. We never were sure if he'd survive. Especially when it would set off his asthma too... Winters were bad." It wasn't winter, but coughs were never good, no matter when it was.

That got him a gentle smile from Sam. "It's not the pneumonia. Probably just a," cough, "cold." He shrugged. "Living rough." He picked up his tool again. "I better finish these sooner than later. How you doing on flight basics?"

"I think I have it." In his turn, Bucky shrugged as well. "Won't know until I try it." 

He watched Sam for a bit, reaching over a couple of times to wipe his forehead. The weather didn't feel hot, but Sam did. "Are you supposed to be hot?"

"Well now, that depends on who you ask..." Sam winked at Bucky. Then the smile slipped from his face as he wiped his forehead and rested his hand there for a moment. He shrugged after a moment. "Actually, let me explain what I'm doing here..." He went on to detail out what the diagnostics had shown and how he was resetting the connections, one branch after another, all down the central wing spike.

Bucky listened intently, absorbing the technical knowledge even as cold shuttered over his heart and his soul. Sam was telling him so that Bucky could take over the repairs. Sam was sick and, "Sam, don't die. Please don't die."

With a sigh, Sam put the wings aside for a moment, putting the goggles up and looking at Bucky intently. "I'm not going to die from this. It's just a stupid cold from me being an idiot. But Bucky... even if I do die – I'm not gonna, but just saying – even if; it's not your fault. It's never, ever going to be your fault, or your responsibility, or anything like that." He handed the wings to Bucky and passed over the goggles and the tool. "You try."

Bucky had heard the words, but couldn't accept them. Not with Sam sweating and coughing, with his side swollen and inflamed. Not when Bucky had tried so hard not to kill him the day before and won that fight. But there was always more than one battle, and the chill in his heart crept further in, knowing he may not win this one. He didn't want Sam to die. More than just kindness now, it was Sam himself, the Sam he'd gotten to know over time. But not enough time. 

They had to go on from where they were. Bucky accepted the wings, slipped on the goggles, and took up where Sam had left off. Circuitry work was nothing new for him, it was just the particulars of the wings that was new. He found the problem sections and poked the tool down and in, pressing the command for reset on that part. If only a human body could be reset as easily. 

"That's it." Sam's voice was full of praise and pride. Acceptance and more from him to Bucky. 

Sam coughed again and then he gently spoke again. "I'm pararescue, Bucky. I know you know this, but I don't think you know what it means. Soldiers go to wars, and they might die. I signed up for that... and then I also signed up to rescue. I go into the worst of the worst, where normal troops don't have a chance, and I find the wounded, and I patch them in the field then bring them home. While being shot at the entire time. Dodging missiles in the sky is nothing new for me. Dang RPGs. A falcon's bane.

"Pararescue rescues whoever is out there, whether they're good or not. We don't stop for character evaluations and make no judgements – we get word people need us and we go. Tran... now the guy that Tran was after when he got killed, well that was a real SOB. A mean bastard who probably did more harm than good ever in his life. Did Tran trade his life for that guy? No. The person he rescued before that was awesome, terrific, shouldn't have been there in the war but a really nice person. He didn't trade his life for either of them – he did what pararescue does. 

"Riley... when Riley went down, he and I were after a team of five holed up. I kept on after Riley was out and when I got there it was a team of four, then three despite my best efforts. I got those three out, and let me tell you, that was a problem. But we did it, me and Riley's ghost, keeping me company throughout it. Of those three? The one I liked best, well, he went right back in and got killed less than a year later. Another was eh, not as bad as the SOB Tran rescued, but not somebody I'd ever want to cross paths with socially or otherwise. The third... nice enough kid, who was absolutely traumatized that somebody had died rescuing him. Went to Riley's funeral, wrote letters to Riley's mom, tried to, quote, 'make it up to them', unquote. Riley's mom finally had to have me go talk to him – it was that or a restraining order. We weren't trading lives, dying for a particular person... we were doing our job."

Bucky winced. He was just one among many, another job for Sam. He moved to the next circuit, methodically working his way through the array.

"Which I'm not saying that _you're_ not special," Sam's voice warmed up. "Not saying that at all. Your worth has nothing to do with who will or won't die for you. Don't ever, ever count yourself by that. You are important on your own. And my life... well, my life might be gone today, it might be next month, or a year from now. And my life isn't going to take away from your life at all. I'm who I am, and I do what I do. And if my actions get me killed, well, that's on me, not on you. The only thing you're ever responsible for is yourself – and that's only when you're you. When you're making your own decisions. Just as I make my own decisions. Don't take what is mine on you. You don't need that too."

With a sigh, Bucky capitulated. He could picture clear as day the moment Sam swept in to rescue him. The Falcon appearing from what seemed to be no-where, coming out of the sky with guns blazing, his wings extended wide. Bucky also remembered tearing that wing off when Sam was fighting him, protecting the world from him – protecting Steve. And afterward that fight, when Bucky went in the hospital to check, only to see Sam sitting by Steve's bedside when he'd thought Steve would be alone. Sam rescued people. Pararescue or Avenger, that's what he did.

He still didn't want Sam to die. But he made a valiant effort at the least to not make it all about him instead.

"You sure it's a cold?" 

Sam was silent. Bucky glanced up to catch the tail end of what was probably a shrug. A super zoomed-in and therefore fuzzy and out of focus shrug. 

"Do you know how many things there are in the medical world with symptoms of cough and fever?" Sam spoke with a touch of exasperation. "It's almost impossible to diagnose based on that alone. Gotta check everything. And then usually send cultures out if you gotta know for sure. There are thousands of 'initial symptoms' followed by 'and then..."

That was probably true enough. Bucky finished a section and moved to the next.

"You're going really fast."

"I'm getting them all. Circuity work is precision work, just a smaller target than normal."

There was a little bark of laughter from Sam's direction. Bucky grinned to himself for the reaction.

"I don't want a thousand possibilities, Sammy," Bucky tried again without his ego getting in the way. It wasn't about him, about what he'd feel like if Sam died – it was about _Sam_. He stared intently at the circuits he was working on and not at Sam. "I want the one that you're scared of. The remote possibility that has you frowning and glancing at your watch and then the hill where Steve is on the other side. I want the one that if it _is_ the worst case, that I can be prepared for it and have a plan to combat it." Bucky left the tool where it was, holding it steady with the metal fingers so it didn't move at all, and he looked up and right at Sam. With his other hand, he pulled the goggles back so Sam would have to meet his eyes to reply.

Thankfully, Sam looked more thoughtful than upset. Then Sam turned a corner of his mouth up in acknowledgement, and met him, as brave and strong and bold as he ever was. "Alright," Sam said with determination. "All right."

Before he expanded on that, Sam got up and walked to the edge of their self-made perimeter. He looked out over the hill where the Hydra bunker was hidden by distance and natural landscaping. They hadn't heard any more explosions or gunfire for a long time. But hiding from Hydra, by necessity, also meant hiding from their friends. They were off the grid, and while both were absolutely sure Steve was looking for them, it was an open question as to when he might get to them. Steve was out there. Out by way of where Sam watched.

Bucky understood that need; did it himself. Yearned for Steve even as he stayed away. Sam was here... but they both wanted Steve. Things were righter when Steve was there.

"Worst case..." Sam didn't turn around, though he pitched his voice so Bucky could hear. "It could be sepsis. That's mostly seen nowadays in the hospitals, folks with kidney disease, compromised immune systems, infections that run wild. But it used to be known as blood poisoning. It starts with an infection – any little infection – and then goes into the blood stream and travels to a vital organ, where it can become deadly within a short time. I saw a case once... guy cut his knee falling down in a minor tussle. Went home and slept it off. Died the next day. The other guy got charged with manslaughter." Sam sighed. "Healthy people don't usually get it. It's rare for that to happen. But when it does... there's no real rhyme or reason to when or why. Or we'd have a better handle on it and warnings. Sometimes it just happens."

Bucky's hair was raising, every part of him on point and hunting the danger. But this wasn't a danger he could shoot. Or knife. Or fight. "What can be done?"

Sam shrugged and walked back. "Hospital. It's actually fairly easy to cure when caught early, at least for the healthy people. Not for the compromised... but if it's a normally heathy person, just flush the system out with a lot of iv fluids and pump full of antibiotics. As long as it isn't a drug-resistant strain, or the body hasn't been too badly compromised. A few hours, day at the most, then back on their feet again."

"If left too long..." Bucky had heard the 'when caught early' part of that speech and had to ask. "How long is too long?"

Sam picked up his water bag and shook it. It was almost empty and he'd used the last of his purifier tabs. He put it down again and tried not to cough. 

"You've got those candy drops... suck on them for liquid? Better than a rock in the mouth." Bucky had resorted to that trick a time or two.

"Good idea." Sam went back into the shelter and got them. He sat down next to Bucky, leaning against his leg. He patted the extended wing Bucky was working on. "You're in good hands, wings."

Bucky set the goggles back to focus and continued the work. He wanted to fix this quickly, but it had to be done in order without skipping any. So methodical and steady and no stopping again without reason.

"Time... varies. But it comes on quickly. A few hours can be too long. Others, longer. But there is a progression. Fever. Reaction with whatever it's attacking inside." Sam paused to cough. It sounded more testing than required, as if Sam was wondering himself about how to tell from that. A cough of cold... or cough of internal attack? What would the difference feel like? If any. "Elevated blood pressure. Then the mental starts to go with the blood pressure and fever. Won't be too long after that." He shrugged, the motion rippling along Bucky's leg. "If it's sepsis. It's probably just a cold."

"Right," Bucky answered quietly, hoping with the hope... but at least now knowing the possible. Sam's warmth and pressure as he rested against Bucky was reassuring, a solid weight, a presence. Alive. With him.


	6. Chapter 6

"Now, it's possible a cough and fever could also be---"

Well, it was something to talk about other than birds or Steve. Bucky's mouth curved up as he listened to Sam, and the reassuring cadence of his voice. Sam was Safety. Sam was Kindness. Sam was Joy. Sam was a part of Steve as well, and Bucky had a little bit more while he was here with Sam.

The list was oddly familiar too. Not something triggering actual active memories or cascades or enough for a headache... but things that flashed through his mind. Pictures flitting by of little Steve – lots of little Steve. Also the young girls that Bucky was starting to suspect had been his sisters. Soldiers in WWII uniforms. Not so much of the frozen years, surprisingly. Or not so surprising. Colds and coughs and fevers probably weren't ever part of his Winter Soldier assignments or his Russian cohort. Well, except in an incidental way. The impression he was getting of the others was a more active role in helping. Not quite on a Sam-level... but there was a lot of 'oh, so that's what that might have been' drifting around in his hind-brain.

Sam stopped for an extended coughing break. 

Bucky paused the circuit work again and left his marker. He reached the flesh hand out and wiped the sweat off Sam's forehead, and around the rest of his face. "Better stop talking, Sammy. Wouldn't want you to lose that pretty voice of yours."

"Heh." Sam tilted his head back against Bucky, allowing the touch. He was quiet for a little bit, then he sighed. "I'd love to be quiet and just rest... but loc determination is hard enough to tell in a stressful situation. Quiet? Impossible."

"LOC?" Bucky repeated it as Sam had said it – with initials not as a word. Reluctantly, he wiped his hand of the sweat and went back to the wing circuits. Sam hadn't flinched from his touch. He allowed the touch, was resting against him... it wasn't like his measured relaxation of yesterday, where he evaluated and then accepted. This was pure acceptance automatically, accepting Bucky, trusting him and letting him in and near. It had been like that since... since the night, after Sam had woken up curled against him. Bucky hadn't noticed until now.

"Level of Consciousness. To figure out if the mental awareness is changing or not. It's... if the fever gets too high, that could do it too."

It was a main symptom of how late was too late, was what Sammy wasn't quite saying. Bucky swallowed. "Then... how about trading questions? I ask you something, you ask me?" It would give Sam some rest, at least. A measure of it.

Sam went still beside him. He'd surprised Sam again, in a way he hadn't since the day before. At what? Oh, at the trade offer. Bucky realized that Sam had previously been careful not to ask Bucky anything beyond the medical and some of where Bucky had gone from that. Giving Bucky the freedom, while still sharing so much of himself. And Steve.

"I won't be able to answer everything." Bucky shrugged without disturbing his work. "My memories are swiss cheese and a mixed up fruit bowl. All over and who knows what is there. But you can still ask. I'll answer something else if not that."

Sam snuggled a little closer next to Bucky, relaxing again, his hand tightening gently on Bucky's leg before loosening again. "Okay." 

Bucky suspected from the sound of his voice that Sammy was smiling again, a smile that he really wanted to see. But he had to finish the work on the wings first.

"What's your favorite color? Now. Not from before, but just... right now?"

Of all the questions Sam could have asked... Bucky laughed a little. He didn't know if it was Sam still being careful of him, or something he would have asked anybody. But at least it was something he could answer. Even if he did have to think about it a little. "Blue. It's blue right now. When I was a kid, it was bright, eye-searing yellow – I remember that. And I remember wincing when I was older and saw what I'd painted my favorite things. Then... I don't know what it was then. But now..." Bucky looked at the circuits he was fixing and ran through a mental review in the background. "There's not a lot of blue in killing. Reds, browns, greens even... but not blue. Blue is the sky, the lake, the streams – when they aren't muddy or algaefied. Blue is something different." 

Sam hummed, a thoughtful sound. "Makes sense." His voice dropped to a teasing register. "Steve's eyes are blue."

Bucky snorted. He switched to the next section. "Hey, you're the one who is bringing that up, not me."

"It's a sight worth seeing," Sam agreed easily, comfortable with it.

There was a little pause before Bucky remembered he was supposed to ask the next question. "Did you ever meet any of the Howling Commandos?"

He could feel by the way Sam reacted that it wasn't something he'd expected. But Sam answered readily enough. "More than just being in the crowd at a speech? Yes, twice. Gabe Jones came to speak at my high school graduation and I was the valedictorian. Me and the other honor students got to talk to him before and also at a dinner later. And he would have corrected my grammar on that. Life gets looser the longer you live it, but he said it was important to present the educated appearance in front of the crowds and he was careful about that."

"Careful in smaller groups too," Bucky remarked, then he stilled. He held himself motionless, the tool not moving from where he held it as a jolt of pain shot through his head, along with some precious memories. Campfires and tents, jeeps and foxholes, bars and mess halls... talking with his friends. He'd had friends. Gabe and Jim and Jacques and DumDum and Monty... Bucky breathed in and out steadily until he could return to the work.

Sam had said more about Gabe while Bucky was lost but he hadn't heard most of it. He hoped he'd get the chance to ask Sam again.

"The other... well, I was working on a project with Dr. Nadine Dernier and her father kept poking his nose in during it and telling us we were doing it all wrong." Sam laughed with the memory, but didn't expand on it.

Bucky blinked a few times, holding still again until he got his eyes under control. He knew... he _knew_ that time had moved on for all the others and they had had families and children and wives and grandchildren... he'd read all that in the records. He'd researched it. He'd looked it up. Only... he hadn't ever looked too hard. Not too deep. It wasn't... it wasn't him. It wasn't the them that he knew. They were somebody different now, in a better way than he was different, and he'd not wanted to look too carefully. A lifetime... and children. Dr. Nadine Dernier. Jacques must have been so proud. 

He couldn't imagine it, though. His memories were still running through all the ones just returned to him from seventy years ago, when they had all been young and strong together, fighting the good fight against evil, with Captain America leading them. 

Knowing the facts that time had moved on was very different than knowing it inside.

How did Steve deal with it? By all reports, Steve had woken up in the strange new world without anybody to help him. Bucky wondered about that, about how carefully Shield must have arranged it that way. There had been many who had loved and worked with Captain America during the war... not all of them were gone. They would have wanted to help. To isolate him... Was Shield being protective of Steve? Or trying to make him dependent on them?

It could have been a bit of both, really. Or a little nudge from Hydra inside Shield, even if it wasn't Hydra directly. 

Bucky let himself feel Sam resting next to him, and thanked all the good deities that Steve had found Sam – and had let him in. It must have been hard for Steve, but he'd still done it. Waited until he'd found the right person, but when he did, Steve had been brave enough to have another friend.

"Okay. My next question... What animals do you like?"

Bucky laughed again. "You can ask me harder ones than that. Really. I don't mind."

The smile was still in Sam's voice. Bucky loved that sound, the way it threaded through, easy and belonging. "I know. But I want to know. You said I could ask you anything... and that's what I'm curious about."

If his fingers weren't busy working on the falcon wings, Bucky would have wanted to reach over and ruffle Sam's hair. It was a little startling that he wanted to. It was more startling to know Sam would have let him. When Steve picked a new companion, he really had done well.

But still... "Zebras – now ask me something else because that didn't count."

"Zebras?" Sam questioned the answer, but then dissolved into a coughing fit. 

Sam needed to rest. He needed water. He needed a hospital. 

If Steve found them in the next hour, he could do the rescue. Otherwise... Bucky kept working, his fingers sure and steady, no matter how much he wanted to rush. He had to swallow, though, before his voice was quite as steady. "Doesn't count – something else."

"All right," Sam's voice was noticeably weaker, "what was your most recent good memory?"

The Falcon, swooping in to rescue him, wings spread wide and guns in hand to defend. Sam's bright grin as he declared his intention to teach Bucky how to fly.

Bucky knew Sam wouldn't want those, not with himself as he main focus, something they shared. So he told him instead about the boys that had given their meal to him... generosity and kindness unlooked for.

For his question, Bucky backed off the serious, not wanting Sam to talk more than he had to. "Where do you want to go on vacation?"

"Would you believe I've never been to Hawaii? I'd love to go there – warm oceans and whales... With friends, of course. Not much of a vacation by myself. We'll find a remote beach where you don't have to cover the arm, and Steve won't be so self-conscious about being stared at."

Bucky drew in a breath, unable to completely hide how much that 'we' affected him. He wanted. Oh, he wanted probably more than was good for him. Hydra always destroyed... but Steve was here now. And Hydra had never defeated Steve, not even with the Winter Soldier. Maybe. Maybe---

"Jamie, pause that for a moment, will you?"

Bucky blinked several times, then marked where he'd left off. "Jamie?" he asked, pulling the goggles off to look at Sam. That hadn't sounded like Sam was mentally wandering, though how would that sound?

Sam's smile was a pale imitation of its normal self, but it was there. "If you're going to call me Sammy, I get to call you Jamie."

Ah... Bucky hadn't even realized he'd been doing that. He shrugged, slightly embarrassed, but not able to explain. 

"Give me your right hand." 

Sam held his cell phone up in demonstration, though as far as Bucky knew, they still didn't have reception. Bucky obediently let his flesh hand drift to Sam's, waiting for whatever would happen.

Taking hold, Sam pressed Bucky's thumb several times against the phone lock, holding and releasing. "There. You're authorized on it now. Code right spiral from the 5 up and out." Sam demonstrated briefly. "For insurance and medical stuff, call Tony Stark. In the contacts. We're all under Stark Industries for insurance, and while Pepper or Maria or one of the staff would normally be who I'd call... I don't want to risk their reactions with you. Tony will be an ass about it, but he'll probably answer, and he can cut through any red tape. Steve has my info, of course, but hooking up with him might be difficult depending on where he's searching for us. He also doesn't do as well with red tape sometimes."

His hand released, Bucky used the freedom to wipe Sam's forehead. He wasn't sweating as much as earlier. Bucky didn't think that was a good sign. Especially not with Sam making more provisions. 

Sam leaned into his touch and sighed. "Sorry, Bucky. I don't think it's a cold. You... I'm sorry."

Bucky curled his fingers through Sam's hair, wishing he didn't destroy everything he liked. And he knew, that was making it about him again. But Sam... "It's alright, Sammy boy. We'll get to a hospital. They'll take care of you." Steve's mom had died in a hospital. 

"Wear my shirt. Wrap your arm with the ace bandage," Sam murmured, leaning against Bucky again and closing his eyes.

"I'll be careful," Bucky promised. "Been doing this a long time now."

"Uh huh," Sam's reply was a skeptical whisper. Then he shrugged. "What do you want to do for yourself?"

Back to the questions. Back to a routine. Not denial, but determination. Sam wasn't going to give up, and he was going to make sure Bucky had all the information he needed. 

Carding his hand through Sam's hair again, Bucky smiled, "That Hawaii plan sounded good to me." Reluctantly, he let Sam go and turned his attention back to the circuits. The sooner they were fixed, the sooner they could get to a hospital. "If you mean little things like you and Steve trading off between stays... I like to visit museums. It's fascinating, the history and the things people choose to remember, to research. Every place is different, and people have learned so much."

Feeling the need to let Sam rest, Bucky talked about some of the museums he'd been to – science, history, cultural, arts... all sorts and types, in different countries. He couldn't get over how much there was. So many things valued enough by somebody to collect and store and catalog. 

Along the way, Sam's weight settled against him, and his breathing changed. Not asleep, exactly, but not completely conscious. 

And then Sam started to talk. Not to Bucky. No, it wasn't the give and take they'd just had, nor was it the earlier calming rambling he'd done to reassure Bucky. This was a freer, happier, Sam, delighted to see his Riley, and the pauses for Riley's responses. And then Tran was there. And Kyle. And Liz. And ... Yes, Sam had his own ghosts. Many of them, all waiting for him.

"You fuckers can wait a while longer," Bucky muttered while working as fast as he could. "You can't have him yet. You don't need him. I know he was a part of your team... but not yet." He listened some more. "Please."

Bucky reached to move the wing to the next section... and there was no more wing. He'd finished the last connection. 

Bucky swallowed, keeping down the sudden hope.

The next step should be to run another diagnostic, make sure all the connections were all done. 

Fuck that.

Folding the wing back in until it was a compact pack again, Bucky switched it from manual to auto. He waited a moment, thinking about everything that could go wrong. Then he put all that to the side, not to think of it again. He dialed the goggles to normal vision, and turned to Sam. "We're almost ready, Sammy."

He very nearly scooped Sam up in his arms and left right then. The only thing that stopped him was that he was only cleared to fly on fledgling mode, and in fledgling mode his arms had to be strapped to the wings. Sam could fly free and clear in the air, himself and his wings as a piece together, graceful and beautiful. The sky his element. Bucky would be considerably less graceful. And he would have to use the passenger straps to take Sam with him.

With a sigh, he picked up the wings and set them to start running the diagnostics after all. It would take a little time to get completely ready, as much as he didn't want to spend that time. He put the wings down with a promising pat. "Soon." Then, gently, he moved Sam from resting on his leg to the rock next to them. Sam didn't wake up as he was handled. Bucky could see – and hear – that Sam was still breathing, yet he still laid his hand carefully on Sam's chest to feel the motion. It wasn't an easy sleep. His breath was rough and would catch periodically before resuming. His skin was a weird mixture of damp and cold, though he wasn't actively sweating anymore. It wasn't good.

Swallowing, Bucky stood up. Then he wind-milled his arms and flailed around as he twisted and fell, trying not to fall on top of either Sam or the wings.

"говно. Shit." Bucky swore, in more languages with more words than he'd known he'd known. A part of his mind noted more of them were Russian. The rest of him was focused on rolling to his back and grabbing at his leg. He had totally forgotten about that. Fuck.

Shifting around, Bucky reached out and grabbed his stick. The stick that Sam had gotten for him yesterday. Metal hand on the wall, flesh leveraging the stick, good leg under and pushing up and he finally managed to stand. He thought he might have just undone half the healing he'd been building up, and probably some of Sam's original straightening too. 

He'd been through worse. 

Bucky gritted his teeth and limped and fumbled his way back into the shelter where the medical supplies were laid out. He located the carry straps, reassuring himself that they were still there. Then he sat down and grimly attended to his leg. 

A couple more of the flexible splint boards, plus realigning the ones previously molded to his leg. They weren't supposed to be for holding weight, just holding against basic bumps and being carried. But they were what he had to work with now. Them and his will. 

The Winter Soldier had carried on through much, much worse. Bucky could do this now. The Asset, the Soldier... they were still a part of him, and would never not be. It was a grim and dark past, but it was his. And he was damn well going to make use of it as he could.

With a grimace, Bucky also took care of the other problems of going into public. He wanted the hospital personnel to be concentrating their attention on Sam, not on the man with the metal arm. He couldn't do much about the grime and general disheveled look – at least Sam had gotten him to clean most of the obvious blood off the night before. But as for his arm...

Sam had a packet of blue plastic gloves – carefully labeled 'latex free'. Why the hell did anybody care if it was plastic of latex or not? Bucky put one of those on and critically looked at it. Good enough. For the arm... he followed Sam's earlier instruction and wrapped an ace bandage around it, looping up to the top. It wasn't anywhere near perfect, and wouldn't hold if he was particularly active with his arm. But should hold for awhile.

He glanced around the rest. If they were going anywhere besides the hospital some of it would be useful. But he wasn't planning on going anywhere else. Not until Sam was safe. 

Hospital. With a grimace, Bucky took out his guns and put them down too. He kept two of the knives. Knives were useful and could be explained by other reasons. But guns frightened people and were harder to conceal. Sam had to be his priority.

And... that was it. Nothing left to be done but leave. Bucky grabbed the passenger straps and hauled himself up again and back to Sam. 

By the time he'd put Sam's shirt on (it was a good size on him, a little loose the way he liked them), and the straps around Sam, the wings beeped, indicating the diagnostic had finished.

It better not say anything except ready to fly. Bucky couldn't... it said the wings were clear. 

With a sigh of relief, Bucky let his stick drop to the ground, and put the wings on. He settled the pack in the middle of his back, connecting the straps around him. He remembered Sam wearing them. Swooping down to rescue him. The wing flipping out to bat the grenade away. Sam's hands at the straps, working efficiently with a wounded Bucky.

Bucky only noticed he was trembling when he reached his hand out. Fascinated, he stared at his fingers and flesh as they vibrated. He held the metal hand out, and it was shivering just the same – the reaction coming from the core of him. Drawing a breath in and then forcing it out, Bucky steadied his body. He couldn't deal with anything else, and therefore it just wouldn't be.

Sam hadn't moved, still where Bucky had propped him up against the stone. The straps were around him, legs drawn up to balance out the body size. A neck brace to keep him stable. His side didn't look all that bad – minor scrapes just a little darker and swollen. Bucky looked worse. But it was Sam who needed the hospital. It was just a matter of connecting the straps up. And then...

Bucky gathered Sam in to him. Then he hit the start button on the pack relay, letting it read him. The pack hummed and gave a definitive 'beep', unfolding the wings behind him.

The pack had made a solid weight in the middle of his back. The wings... the wings were something else. Weight, yes. But somehow also light. And already vibrating, ready to take off with his command.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky put his hands out to the side, the wings coming in to connect to his arms, his wrists, a handle for each hand adjusting to where he was. Fledgling. About to leave the nest. With a Falcon to tend to.

"Fly smooth, wings," Bucky whispered. "Your Falcon depends on you. I know you'd rather have him... but it's just us right now. Please help. For Sam's sake."

Then Bucky flapped his arms up, the whole wing array moving with him. Down, up, down... and up. 

And they were flying.

\--- --- ---

(End)   
(After Scenes next)


	7. Chapter 7

After Scenes:

 

Steve hesitated at the hospital doors. Bucky had texted him the address, had said he'd be there... but when it came down to it, Steve was afraid. Afraid for Sam, afraid for Bucky. Afraid for himself – for what might happen in the moments that he opened the door and went in. Bucky. Sam. Steve clenched his hand into a fist and then let it go. He had to go in, no matter what.

Inside, his gaze went first to the lady at the main desk, who was just looking up from her work. He acknowledged her, then moved his attention... there.

Bucky looked _horrible_. Steve was surprised the doctors hadn't insisted on him being treated too. Though he suspected even if they had, it would have made no difference given Buck's stubbornness. If he hadn't wanted to be looked at, they wouldn't have. 

Bucky was pale where he wasn't bruised – a large injury on the side of his head making yellows and greens over the light beige skin. His hair was dirty and caked with what was probably dried blood. He had an ace bandage lapped over his metal arm, the cleanness of the bandage in direct contrast to the stains and tears on his shirt. No, that was Sam's shirt that Bucky was wearing.

A pang shot through Steve's heart. He'd lead Sam into this, and now Sam was in the hospital, possibly dying. Steve wanted to be glad about Bucky, but _Sam_.

"You coming over or goin' to make me do it?" Bucky's voice was harsh yet soft. A trickle of the old accent running through – just enough to make Steve close his eyes for a moment.

Then he was on his way. 

Bucky was waiting for him, standing propped up against a wall. His leg was covered in more ace bandages, a purple splint showing under the flaps of the cut pants. This wasn't camouflage, but Steve couldn't tell how bad it really was. 

He stopped two feet off, far enough not to be a threat, no matter how close he wanted to be in truth. "Bucky," he said helplessly, still not quite believing.

Bucky's face flicked briefly into a wry grin – his lips curving up, his cheeks moving towards a dimple, the sides of his eyes crinkling. "Yeah. Yeah, it's me, Stevie."

Steve's heart jumped at hearing that nickname, in that voice, with a shade of Bucky's old smile. 

"Well, mostly me. Partially me. Somewhat of a version of a Bucky somewhere."

Steve huffed a little laugh. "As long as you're you." A pause. "Uh, I mean who you want to be." No, not that either. "I mean..."

Bucky's lips twitched, "Come here, punk." He held out his arms.

Without thinking, Steve was in them, wrapping his self around his old friend and holding on for dear life.

He clung, disregarding the smell and the setting and everything else but just being held. Actually, the smell was good – it was Bucky underneath it all, and the war hadn't given them regular showers all the time, so familiar at that. The feel of Bucky's arms around him, familiar as well.

"You're too big," Bucky whispered in Steve's hair. "You should be smaller, me having to duck in, kneel down to get my head against your chest. You hold the same, though."

It was Bucky. Against all odds. Against the years of anguish. Against all they had tried not to make him... it was still Bucky. 

"Steve..." 

His name was different this time – spoken in a plea, a hesitation, a drawn-out uncertainty against the sureness of before. 

"Sam."

Said in tones of heartbreak and despair, worry and fright, plaintive hope with uncertainty. Everything Steve was feeling himself.

He tightened his arms around Bucky. "I know. I know." He couldn't lose Sam. Sam didn't deserve to die. Sam was the best thing in this new world and Steve didn't know how he could go on without Sam. The world was falling to pieces, but there was Sam, sure and true. "Sam..."

Sam would survive. He had to.

\--- --- ---

There was only so long that Steve could sit in the cockpit next to Tony, with Tony rightfully annoyed at him. He'd meant to give Bucky more time alone, but it was a big enough plane, Steve could just sit out of his way. 

Bucky was sitting against the far wall, at an angle to watch Sam in the secured airplane bed. He didn't glance over as Steve came in. "Vitals all still stable."

They'd been monitoring Sam in the cockpit too. Nothing had changed since they'd taken off. The words weren't so much intel as more of an invitation.

Steve came closer, then stood hesitantly. "That's good."

"Sam is strong. He'll be okay." Bucky said firmly, in the tones of one whose willpower will make it so.

Steve quirked his mouth up but didn't feel it pulling at his eyes. "Yeah."

Bucky patted the floor next to him. Steve gladly sat down. He'd never really been one to seek comfort, but he needed it now. Bucky was trying his best, despite everything, despite needing it himself as well. Bucky had only known Sam for that single day... but Steve had known him for less when he'd fallen too.

"How'd you meet Sam?" Bucky said almost on cue. He turned so he was leaning into Steve. "Tell me about it."

Steve put his arm around Bucky and looked up at Sam's still and quiet body, only the rasp of the machinery showing life. 

"I saw him before I met him. I was out at the pool, sitting on a bench watching the water. I'd run earlier... but there's only so much running you can do, and it was too light out and too many people. So I was just... watching the water. I knew where everybody was around me – 12 joggers, 5 walkers, a few early photographers getting pictures without tourist crowds, and a couple of people on benches like me. One of the joggers stopped abruptly, nearly falling. I stood up to see if he needed help... A duck and her ducklings were crossing the path. He'd stopped so not to hurt them. Then he stood there and warned the other joggers as they got near, putting himself between the ducks and them. Laughing and talking to the duck, asking her if she needed any help, but letting her and the ducklings waddle on by themselves until they'd cleared the path to safety on the other side."

Steve smiled at the memory, watching Sam. "It was a bright spot of day before the sunrise had even cleared. The kindness and the laughter, the firmness of his direction with the care he took for the ducks. It caught my attention."

"Bet you wanted to sketch it."

Steve chuckled. "I did want to. And I only had the notebook on me, not a pad, but I still did an outline. I... hadn't done a lot of sketching before then. Not since waking up. It had all been a little too much. But that moment, I wanted to capture."

Bucky leaned a little closer in. "Yeah. I can understand that."

 

\--- --- ---

Sam woke up feeling groggy and horrible. His mouth tasted awful and his nose itched while cold air blew... Oh, there was an oxygen cannula in his nostrils. He recognized that feeling, unfortunately. That meant a hospital. Had he fallen? Or... or he could open his eyes.

A wall, further back than a normal hospital wall. Blinking several times to clear the gumminess, he glanced briefly at the IVs in both arms and decided not to try and scratch just yet. He looked to his side.

The sight that greeted him kept him speechless, even if his mouth wasn't already dry.

There was a decent sized couch instead of just a chair, which also said "not a normal hospital", and two indecently sized humans curled up in it, asleep.

Steve had apparently fallen asleep while sitting up, slumped down on the edge of the couch, but otherwise still propped mostly upright. His arm was around Bucky, curled up next to him. Bucky had taken the rest of the couch as his own, his feet on the other side, his head on Steve's side, curled up facing Sam. The two of them entwined without regard for personal space.

Steve always had personal space around him. He made exceptions for those few who ventured in, but otherwise... people usually respected that space. 

Bucky had been so careful with Sam, not wanting to be close so he didn't hurt. Yet there had been that night when he'd pulled Sam close so that Sam wouldn't get chilled. The next day... Sam's memories of the next day were fuzzy. As fuzzy as he felt right now. 

But he wasn't too fuzzy not to be glad at what he was seeing. 

With a smile, Sam closed his eyes again. He could sleep some more before waking up again. He wanted to keep this picture for awhile longer, etching it into memory.

\-------------

* * *

END

**Author's Note:**

> Ignore any problems with the birding. I had to google it. Why do I do this to myself? ;p
> 
> After-scenes included as snippets from the future parts I didn't write. Just so you know that it all ends up okay. Couldn't leave it that way otherwise. :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! :)


End file.
